


Heir and the Spare

by Rising_Eagle (Nikolai_Knight)



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Cancer, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mpreg, Mutual Non-Con, Self-Harm, Sibling Incest, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-03-24 08:03:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 130,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13806993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikolai_Knight/pseuds/Rising_Eagle
Summary: Loki never fell from the Bifrost.Thor believed that saving Jotunheim would save them all. There would be no grief for a lost brother, son, or prince. Loki would face trial for his crimes before the Allfather, before he would be returned to them. It would be a fresh start for their family, as Loki was given a chance to redeem himself and heal from his wounds, but things would soon go awry.Jotunheim held a new king. Jane waited back on Earth.Thor never expected for their relationship to be ripped further apart, forced into a political marriage and torn between conflicting duties, and yet there was no way to move except forward. He would save Loki the only way he knew how, even if that meant that both suffered an unwanted marriage in the meantime. Loki would be saved.





	1. Chapter 1

_‘This is how my father explained it to me . . .’_

_Thor pressed pen to paper. He moved his hand rapidly across the page, jotting down the basic image of Yggdrasil on the white sheath under hand, and – as he drew – Jane leaned ever closer beneath the shadows from the firelight. The light caught her face just right, so that shadows danced over pale skin and added depth to her cheekbones, while her brown hair turned almost black under the night’s sky, and he smiled to see her beauty._

_The blanket around her shoulders hid her figure from sight, but it couldn’t hide the passion behind those eyes that consumed every line of ink with a hungry fervour. He relished the warmth of her body pressed against him. Thor sketched the names of the realms beside each representation, although her eyes glossed over the runes with little understanding, but still a spark ran through every nerve in his body when long fingers traced over the runes. Jane angled her head toward him; he felt her breath on his cheek, as Jane whispered:_

_‘This is how your father explained magic?’_

_‘Aye,’ said Thor. ‘You see your world is one of nine realms, linked to each other by the branches of Yggdrasil, the World Tree. Now, you see it every day, without even realising what it is you see, all glimpsed through – ah, what did you call it?’_

_Thor flicked through her notebook. The writing reminded him too much of the healers or advisers, who would often jot down ideas after ideas until their pages were filled with almost incoherent scribbles, and any criticism was taken as an affront, as they often complained their hands could not compete with the speed of their minds. The way she used this alphabet reminded him too much of Loki’s hand when he strove to use the letters of other races, enough that he closed the book with a soft chuckle and lightly nudged her with his shoulder._

_‘You glimpse it through your “Hubble Telescope”,’ he teased._

_‘You know that’s the height of technology, right?’_

_‘Maybe here.’ Thor smiled. ‘I have come to admire your people. It is as you say, this “magic” is simply science yet to be uncovered, and – through its simplicity – you have managed to uncover a substantial amount of knowledge. Every piece of technology fulfils a purpose, and your passion . . . I admire that. I almost desire it.’_

_Jane let her blanket fall slightly from her shoulder. The fashion was so unlike the Asgardian women, but far more practical and slightly more masculine, and he could easily envision her living a life equal to that of any man. Jane achieved more than any other he knew. The research was beyond any of her people, while her initiative and enthusiasm separated her from the masses, and – as he glanced over that long column of neck – he glanced away with a blush to think of what else might make her unique. He licked at his lips, as she asked:_

_‘What else do you desire?’_

_Thor slid the paper and notebook onto the ground. The fire crackled and roared, as Jane dropped the blanket to the grit and dirt beneath them, and – with a seductive smirk – threw her leg over him and sat astride his lap. He rested his hands on her hips. The skin was impossibly soft as her shirt slid upward, while her long locks fell forward to partially obscure her face, as he caught scent of a rich perfume. Thor murmured in contentment:_

_‘Perhaps I could show you.’_

* * *

“Hello, Mother,” said Loki.

Thor winced from across the hall. The chains were imbued with the same runes as Mjölnir, suppressing vast amounts of magic and power, while the sheer weight left red marks on slender wrists and darkened the otherwise pale skin. The guards around him took their leave, as they took positions around the perimeter of the hall . . . _the illusion of privacy_. There was no mistaking that this was a mere prisoner in the presence of royalty.

Loki wore his hair slicked back, but the natural curls were more prominent. Thor looked him over with a cold eye, as he noted the increase in leathers and the decrease in gold, and there was no denying how armour was added to his outfit, especially to the shoulders. The sheer bulk of his clothing aged him. The lines on his face were deeper than before, especially around his eyes, and there were visible black marks under his eyes that denoted a lack of sleep, enough that Thor held his breath and bit into his lip. Loki turned to them and asked:

“Have I made you proud?”

Frigga stepped away from Thor. He watched as she strode across the tiled floor, while her long blue skirts fluttered out from behind her and the sound of padded footsteps echoed about the hall, and – with a gentle touch – she reached out to Loki’s clenched fists. The touch was gentle, but Loki recoiled as if burned by electric. Frigga blinked away tears. Loki let his shoulders fall and his head drop forward, while Frigga held onto his hands and smiled a smile that only she could ever manage, while she reached out to push back a lock of hair.

“Please, Loki,” begged Frigga. “Don’t make this worse.”

“Ah, define ‘worse’,” teased Loki.

The half-smile to his lips betrayed his concern, while his eyes half-glistened with unshed tears, and – with a loud scoff – Thor rolled his eyes and marched across the hall, where he stood a mere foot away from Loki with arms folded over his chest. Frigga stepped away from Loki, although she allowed her hand to linger on his cheek, and Loki leaned into her almost out of instinct, while angling his body toward her as in search of more reassurance.

Thor stepped before him. He listened to his heart pound loud in his ears, while he clenched his hands so tight that small crescent-shaped cuts appeared on his palm, and – as his vision blurred at the edges – he knew that his anger would soon get the better of him. Loki straightened and stiffened, as he curled his lip and cocked his head to the side. He appeared an almost entirely different man to the one their mother comforted. Thor slumped his shoulders and let out a loud sigh, as he rapidly blinked and licked at his lips. Thor whispered:

“You attempted to _murder_ the Jotun race.”

“Ah, Thor, I missed you, too.”

“Do I look to be in a gaming mood, Loki?” Thor ran a hand over his face. “I did all that I could to see you, but you were the one to refuse me entrance! You were under house-arrest, Loki, but _you_ were the one that decided to decline all visitors, so do not act as if you are the victim here. At any time, you could have explained your actions or shown your repentance –”

“Tell me, Thor, what would have been the point? We both know how this ends . . . I will have audience with the Allfather, who will shun me and spurn me, and I will be thrown into the deepest and darkest parts of the dungeon to be forgotten. You should have let me die.”

“Do you really think our father so cruel as to –”

“Our father? No, Thor. _Your_ father.”

Loki transformed before his eyes.

The usually timid and silver-tongued prince now wore a confidence matched only by the sheer venom in his words, and he leaned forward with eyes narrowed into slits, as he raised his fists as much as the chains would allow. Loki often questioned Thor, but never did he outright antagonise him. The words were thick with rage, complete with a slight tremble, while his pale cheeks turned red and his muscles tensed. Images of their childhood flashed into mind . . . _pranks executed, taunts delivered, blows traded_. . . Loki spat at him:

“In the past week, he _must_ have told you my heritage.”

“We were raised together. We fought together. We played together.” Thor clenched his teeth until his jaw ached. “We are still brothers, Loki, even if you cannot see that through this wilful blindness on your part. Do you remember none of that?”

“I remember a shadow,” murmured Loki. “I remember forever striving to be as admired and adored as my beloved brother, but always falling short . . . our friends assumed the worst about me, it was your arms to which our mother ran, and it was you who was even willing to toss me into the abyss. I remember what a long shadow you cast, even until the last.”

“Is that how you remember things? You willingly _fell_ to your death!”

“Then you should have let me fall,” spat Loki.

Thor stepped backward. A cold sweat broke over his skin, enough to cause his clothing to cling to his flesh, and he shuddered as he raked his eyes over Loki, desperate to see something that would hint at a lie. Loki locked eyes with him, but there was a tremble to his features. Thor noticed his lips pursed into a thin line. He was trying to hurt Thor, perhaps even manipulate him into an emotive declaration of affection, but the truth was there. He truly believed he should have fallen. Thor swallowed back a painful lump.

Thor raised a hand to his chest, as he pressed at his heart. He lowered his gaze with a sad smile, while Loki let out a muffled laugh and looked away in turn, and – as they turned their eyes back to one another – something broke between them. Thor opened his mouth to speak, as he sought to plead for Loki to seek the help of a healer, but a loud slam of a far door silenced him before the words could come forth. Frigga jumped with a gasp.

“ _Enough_ ,” called Odin.

A loud slam of Gungnir echoed about the hall. Frigga quickly placed a cool hand to Thor’s shoulder, as she guided him back to their previous spot across the hall, where they half-hid themselves by a tall pillar flanked on either side by the guards. Thor turned his eyes to the throne; Odin sat down with the usual grace and confidence of a monarch, but refused to look anywhere other than Loki as he parted his legs and gripped hard on Gungnir.

“Loki, my son,” said Odin.

Loki curled his lip and lowered his head; those clenched fists slowly uncurled, as he picked at the skin between his fingers from nervous habit, and – with the same unknowing tell – Thor caught Frigga mimicking the gesture from the corner of his eyes. A cold draught ran through the hall, catching the several sections of fabric at the bottom half of Loki’s coat, and the leather moved as if with a life of its own, while Loki feigned a smile and shrugged. He finally met Odin’s eye and lifted his head high to utter the cold words:

“I really don’t see what the fuss is about.”

“Do you truly not feel the gravity of your crimes?” Odin scoffed and shook his head. “You were a traitor to your king, allowing our enemies into our realm. You were a traitor to your crowned prince, willing to kill him out of sheer jealousy. You were a traitor to your race, attempting to murder every civilian on their planet. This was all you, Loki.”

“I _did_ what I thought right,” spat Loki.

“Is that so? Do you not realise that there is war, death, and ruin wherever you go? You appear to either underestimate the severity of your crimes or feel yourself above them, and were it not for Frigga and Thor then I would have you punished far more severely for your actions.”

“If I am for the axe, for heaven’s sake just swing it!”

“Even now you show no remorse.”

Thor ran his hand over his beard. Every instinct told him to walk away, unable to endure the sheer conflict and unable to watch how Loki struggled to hold back his emotion, but – as he turned his back – he caught the shuffling sound of fabric, along with a hiss of breath. Thor pursed his lips and winced, before he spun back around and stood his ground. Loki needed him, even if he would never admit those words aloud. Thor swallowed hard. He caught how Loki smiled and watched him from his peripheral vision, before Loki chirped out:

“It’s not that I don’t _love_ our little talks, but –”

“Your birthright was to die as a child,” said Odin in a quiet voice. “You were cast out onto a frozen rock, where – were it not for my mercy – you would not be here now to hate me. I fear that I made a mistake in how I raised you, but I cannot see where I went wrong in order to correct this grave error, and yet here you are . . . indifferent to the mercy showed, unaware of what a great gift you were given, and willing to throw away the chances provided.”

“Did you truly seek to end your life, Loki?” Frigga asked. “Do you not see how we would have mourned? Do you truly think we would not have cared? Every night I have shed tears for you, as I wonder what brought you to such a point where death was preferable to you than our love and forgiveness. Will you still not seek the help of the healers?”

“May I point out that Thor was also willing to rage war?” Loki asked. “How many men did his kill that day on Jotunheim? I can guarantee – were it not for the great loss of life I caused – they would seek revenge as we speak, all because Thor acted before he thought.”

“Do not bring me into this, Loki,” warned Thor.

“Why not? Oh, yes, _right_.” Loki rolled his eyes. “You were exiled with the _chance_ to redeem yourself, whereas I get told that I’m lucky to avoid the execution that I am _asking_ to be delivered, because of course the _Jotun_ is the irredeemable monster. Will you even visit me in the dungeons? Will you even be _allowed_? Now, wouldn’t _that_ be a punishment! Yes, let’s deny Loki the one and only thing left to him in this world, his mother and brother.”

Thor glanced toward Odin. He betrayed nothing in his expression, but the lines about his eyes were far darker and deeper than he ever remembered, and a terrible part of him believed that Loki was more astute than he gave credit, as – yes – Odin would likely seek to punish Loki by denying him access to those around him. Thor winced. He listened to every creak of leather as Loki moved, while Frigga gasped beside him and let out choked breaths, and Thor bit into his lip until he tasted familiar iron. Thor narrowed his gaze and said:

“Now I am brother to you? That is news to me.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” teased Loki. “I am told I have been mercurial as of late.”

The words were said with barely restrained laughter. Loki smirked at him with lines at the corner of his lips, while he shrugged an all too innocent shrug, and Thor – hands clenched until blood dripped down the sides of his fists – turned his back to Loki. He marched down the hall and threw open one of the side doors, leaving Loki and Odin alone, as he listened to Frigga’s pattered footsteps chasing after him, while he moved faster and faster.

Thor kept his head low, while he ran a hand through his hair. The guards stood to attention at fixed points along the hallway, each pair on either side of a door, and each one turned their heads to follow his every movement. Thor caught the clinks of armour and whispered comments, even as the footsteps came closer and closer, until a hand caught at his upper arm and pulled him around. Thor pulled away from Frigga. He lowered his head and pursed his lips, before he turned away and drew in a deep breath, prepared to walk away once more.

“Thor, wait,” begged Frigga.

Frigga came around to stand before him. Those soft hands took his cheeks into a gentle hold, while she angled his head downward to meet his eyes, and – as he let out a low hiss of breath – she stood on tiptoes to place a chaste kiss to his forehead. He smiled and reached for her hands, where a smudge of blood stained her palm. Frigga caught sight of the wounds on his palm and quirked an eyebrow at him, before shaking her head and pulling her into one of the nearby rooms, where she sat him down on a stone bench and searched the shelves.

He opened and closed his hands, as he looked at the small cuts left by his nails. The room was mostly used for storage, so that dust clouds drifted upward every time her skirts caught at the tiled floor, and – with a huff of breath – she managed to find out some clean bandages next to some broken healing stones. Thor smiled as she returned to sit beside him, and allowed her to take his hand onto her lap so she could wrap the wounds. Frigga whispered:

“Please, have patience with Loki.”

“I cannot bring myself to look at him,” admitted Thor. “He is terrified. He thinks he hides it well, but I can see it with his jests and how he picks at his hands. He fools no one. He thinks that if he hurts others before they hurt him, or if he acts indifferent all along, that it will hurt less when the eventual painful blow is delivered. He rejects before he is rejected.”

“And do you think walking out on him will help matters?” Frigga chided. “Loki denied you entry to his rooms as he feared you would use it as an opportunity to say goodbye, and he still lingers in his deep depression and lacks any accurate self-perception. He was willing to commit an act of genocide to win your father’s approval, which is all he has ever wanted, and to be denied that left him with what he believes to be nothing. He has nothing to lose.”

“He also believes himself nothing to gain,” said Thor.

“Then we must show him that he is wrong.” Frigga let out a long sigh. “Thor, your father and I will not be here forever, and one day you will be king of Asgard. On that day, you must learn that all people are capable of redemption, as it will be you that people turn for mercy and for an example upon which to follow. I also know that open and honest communication is not our family’s forte, as such it is important we learn to speak each other’s language.”

“Loki knows only lies and manipulations. You would have me sink to his level? I still struggle to understand where things went wrong, only to find him hiding behind a mask and pretending as if none of this matters, and how can I get through to someone who cannot even abide my presence? He blames me. He cannot even acknowledge his part in events!”

Frigga said nothing, as she completed the bandages. Thor pulled back his hand and stood centre of the storage room, while he looked around at various items that would be necessary to any guards on duty . . . stray pieces of armour, sheaths for weapons, books on battle . . . Thor trailed his finger along the spines of several books on magic and philosophy, not touched by dust in the slightest. He flicked open the one on top of the pile, only to see a mixture of both Loki and Frigga’s writing in rapid succession, as if a conversation were held.

“What happens now?” Thor asked.

He closed the book and looked closer at the shelf. A few stray incense sticks sat alone, while a large bowl of water stood ready for conjuring or communication, and various vials collected in a line against the stone wall. It was clear this storage room was also used for secrets shared between mother and son, and – not for the first time – Thor felt as if he stood on the edge of some private world in which he did not belong. He turned to look at Frigga.

“Loki must pay for his crimes,” said Thor.

“What happens now will depend on many factors,” answered Frigga. “We must see what path the Jotuns wish to take, as well as what type of ruler Helblindi shall become, and it could be that they will push for Loki’s execution or his return. Loki will likely be turned to the dungeons as a temporary measure, until a more permanent decision is made.”

“I am angry with Loki, but I do not wish to see him forever imprisoned.” Thor shook his head. “He is my brother, but what drove him to such madness? Loki is no longer the boy we once knew, and I cannot help but wonder . . . do you not regret sharing your magic with him?”

“No, you and your father cast long shadows. I hope that by sharing my gift with Loki that he might find some comfort from the light, but it seems that perhaps I only strengthened the divide between you, as the more I clung to him in hopes of giving him a mother’s love . . . the more he so became like me and the more different he became from you. I know that one day he shall return to us. He simply needs to see that he is loved and wanted.”

“You think that will stop him from lashing out?”

“I think it will stop his pain from turning ever inward.”

Thor winced. He folded his arms across his chest, while Frigga stood and walked over to him, and – with a broken smile – she reached out to push back a lock of blonde hair, before she patted his shoulder and blinked away unshed tears. There were footsteps outside. A pair of guards marched away, only to be replaced by another as the shifts changed, and Frigga appeared to take this as a sign to slip away, as she moved gracefully over to the door and rested her hand on the doorknob. Thor said in a quiet whisper:

“I wish I had your optimism.”

“Allow me to be optimistic for us both.”

Frigga reached out to him with her hand hovering in the air, and – recognising the gesture – he took it with a sad smile and allowed her to squeeze in return, before she fled through the door in time to another pair of guards changing for the shift end. The door closed with a soft click behind her, leaving Thor alone with his thoughts. He glanced down to his bandaged hands. A small speck of blood seeped through the white fabric, while he turned his head in the direction of the hall, curious whether Loki still lingered or would be taken away.

Thor followed Frigga.  


	2. Chapter 2

“I see Mother sent you some books.”

Thor held his cape tight about his neck. The grey fabric was rough against his skin, where it scratched and itched enough for him to pull at the edges to provide some distance, and yet – as he stood before the cell – he knew the cheap cloth would blend in well with the dungeons. The other cells roared with life, often with several men or women locked together with no privacy or personal space, and the only the company of each other protected their sanity.

Loki’s cell was different. The large white space was filled with his favourite pieces of furniture, which included that all too familiar _chaise longue_ to the far right, and a wash-basin complete with mirror opposite Thor against the far wall of the cell. It looked more like the waiting area for those of noble birth, instead of a place of punishment for prisoners beyond any form of redemption. The energy barrier gave a golden glow to the entire room, including the stack of books on a table to the far left, and even the bed on which Loki reclined.

Loki lay in basic green attire, where he threw a small cup into the air. He would catch it with a flourish, only to throw it once more, and Thor was almost tempted to place his hand to the barrier, although a cough from a guard forced him to keep some distance. A glance over to the guards silenced them and forced them further afield, giving the illusion of privacy, while Loki sighed and swung his legs over the bed and dropped the cup onto the green blankets.

“Is that how I am to while away my time?” Loki asked. “Reading?”

“Most prisoners do not receive such comforts.”

“I’m surprised you share her concern.” Loki curled his lip and rolled his eyes. “This is your first visit in two weeks; oh, I am _dreadfully_ sorry, it must be _so_ inconvenient how you ask after me day and night. I am glad to know the man that thought ‘everything’ of me is able to think _nothing_ of me now. Did I truly cut you so deep? Are you so hurt?

“You know full well that it was _your_ actions that brought you here,” spat Thor. “Do you blame me for feeling conflicted? It was you that rejected me when under house arrest. You provoked and goaded me even at your trial. I needed time to assess my feelings.”

“And yet after all this time _now_ you decide to visit me?”

Thor let out a broken laugh. He ran a hand over his bearded face, as he took a step back and paced just enough to clear his thoughts, and – with violent chops of his hand, as he tried to process his thoughts – he cast his eyes back into that immaculately white cell. Loki stood and cricked his back with an exaggerated gesture; the curve of his back provided a momentary distraction, while long black hair fell behind him like a thick curtain, and he turned around to face Thor with hands folded across his chest with a half-smirk on his lips.

There was a vile stench within the dungeons. There were cries of pain from afar. Thor bit into his lip and jerked his head, as he tried to think how inappropriate the dungeons were to a prince, and yet Loki – with long strides and perfect posture – marched to the energy barrier without a care in the world. Thor noted the blue flecks to his green eyes, while he bent just enough to be on even level with Thor who stood a step below on the stone floor.

“You are my brother,” whispered Thor.

Loki pulled back. The slight raise of the cell gave him an extra few inches, so – for the first time in their lives – he stood above Thor and was able to look down at him. He held his hands behind his back, clasped at the wrist, while he parted his legs just enough to give him the look of a king about to pass judgement. Loki raised his head high, while he quirked a black eyebrow and smirked again, so that deep lines appeared at the corners of his mouth. Thor heard his heart race, while he struggled to maintain a slow breath. Loki asked:

“Have you come to gloat? To mock? To pity?”

“Enough, Loki,” commanded Thor.

“No, I deserve to know,” said Loki. “I deserve to know why _now_.”

“You wish to know why I am here? It is simple: I still believe that the brother I once knew is lost behind those cold eyes of yours.” Thor clenched at his fists. “Mother believes you can still be saved. Father admits your actions were no worse than mine. They believe you can be redeemed over time, and I . . . I hope this proves true. I need my brother back.”

“Oh, you don’t want your brother. You want someone to warm your bed!”

Thor widened his eyes. He stepped back to look both ways down the long wing of the dungeon, but the other prisoners were just far enough to be out of earshot, and – with a glance to the guards – he saw them lazily engaged in idle conversation. Thor let out a long sigh of relief, while he slumped half-forward and half-closed his eyes. A cold sweat washed over his skin. It felt like insects crawling over his flesh, something like needles or pinpricks, and he grew almost lightheaded until he looked at Loki and saw the devilish rage behind his eyes.

“Don’t,” Thor warned. “ _Don’t_ , Loki! You don’t know who may overhear in this wretched place; you have no right to make assumptions of my motives, not when you have proven that you do not respect my character or care for me as a person. You were willing to kill me!”

“And _you_ were willing to sleep with that whore!”

 _A heavy truth_.

Thor stepped back. He let his mouth fall open, where he looked to Loki and saw those green eyes covered with a film of unshed tears, and a snarl – so deep and dark and baring such teeth – that it was almost easy to believe this nothing more than another taunt. Any other man may have believed the superficial facade, but Thor noticed that Loki hid his hands to hide his tell of picking at the flesh. He noticed how Loki lowered his head. He noticed it all.

Thor laughed through his scowl, as he stood on the stone step just before the energy barrier, and – leaning as close as he dared to the golden wall between them – he quirked his head to the side and smiled in such a way that Loki’s smirk fell soon after. Loki took a step back, before his head lowered and his arms returned to fold across his chest, and suddenly the power was shift once more. _A few footsteps_. Thor raised a hand to signal to the guard that all was well, before flicking his wrist and waiting until the man returned to his post.

“Is this what this is about?” Thor asked. “You’re jealous.”

“I love you,” admitted Loki. “I love you more dearly than anyone. You were the one who always held back, and always insisted on hiding our relationship and dallying about with others and calling it off only to call it back on again . . . you know I endured _all_ your women.”

“I always swore to be loyal to you, but you were the one who said –”

“I endured them because at least they were _Asgardians_ and could give you what I could not, and at least they never _changed_ you . . . never made you soft and some weakling of a former warrior, always drivelling on about peace and so oblivious to obvious threats. How much did you have to hold back? Afraid of breaking her even as you pounded into her?”

“Do you forget that you lied to me first? You told me our father was _dead_. You left me _exiled_ even as I was needed back at home. Oh, not to mention that – even as you apparently pined after me – you were the one to tell me that our romantic affair was over! I was the one who practically forced you on every hunt. I was the one to beg entry to your rooms. I even invited you to Jotunheim on the same excursion that damned me! You were my priority.”

“So much a priority that you _slept_ with some slut the _second_ you thought there was no return to the life you left behind? How long will she live, Thor? Fifty years? Sixty years? Why, that’s merely over three-thousand years that you’ll have to mourn, nothing at all.”

“You made me believe I had no life here, that I was never to return.”

“And _you_ made me believe that you loved me.”

The words were barely more than a snarl. Loki leaned ever closer to the barrier, even as Thor moved closer in turn, and both panted heavily for breath, faces only a few inches apart as they clenched their fists and tensed their muscles. Thor swallowed back a painful lump, while he listened to his pulse pounding rapidly within his ears. Bile rose in the back of his throat. It burned his tongue, as his stomach churned and he finally pulled himself away and jumped back down onto the stone tiled of the hallway. Loki pulled away with a blush. Thor said:

“You said it yourself: I was always clear this could never be more.”

“Aye, as well as good. You could never marry a Jotun.”

“I could never marry my _brother_ ,” spat Thor. “Father already suspected! Why do you think he was so desperate to arrange a marriage with Sif? He wanted an heir, knowing each Odinsleep may well be his last, and he wanted a barrier between us, so that we would not be caught breaking any laws or committing any cardinal sins. He _feared_ what was between us.”

“No, he _feared_ that I would corrupt you.” Loki rolled his eyes. “He knew you were not fit to rule, but he could never have a Jotun sitting on the throne of Asgard. I wonder what he will say when he realises you’ve been fucking a mortal woman, however.”

“It was a one-night stand, nothing more.”

“Ah, any excuse. Scared you may no longer be the favourite?”

Thor scoffed and turned his back to Loki. The guards stood to attention on either side of the main doors to the stairwell, while others patrolled the main hall, and he noticed all eyes were on them, as if they provided the sole entertainment in a lifeless place. Thor bit into his lip and raised the hood of his cape, so that it covered his blond hair and shielded the sides of his face, while he stepped closer to the barrier and spoke as low as feasibly possible:

“How did you even _know_ , Loki?”

There was a low sigh from Loki who stepped back. He raised his hands to the sides, as if seeking to showcase something special, and then – with a nod of his head – waved to the washbasin at the far back of the room. Loki walked over and ignored his reflection, before he dipped his fingers into the waters and swirled it around to create loose waves. Thor drew in a sharp breath. He remembered all too well how their mother would stand before bodies of water, casting spells to give life to her illusions, and how she would see all through their eyes.

“I saw everything,” muttered Loki.

Thor winced and looked away. Loki chuckled and smashed the water surface with his palm, so that splashes of water fell over the edges and onto the floor, and – as he pulled back his hand to shake the droplets from his skin – Thor thought back to his time on Midgard. He thought back to Loki giving the news of their father’s ‘death’, but foolishly assumed that was all Loki saw and all Loki knew. Thor licked at his dry lips and asked in a whisper:

“What will happen now?”

“Between us?” Loki sighed. “We will continue to break each other’s hearts. I will continue to abuse your trust, until one day you finally learn my tricks, and – on that day – perhaps we will respect each other enough to not constantly bicker and fight and run away from our issues. Never doubt that I love you, Thor, even as I doubt your love for me.”

“I meant what shall happen with your punishment,” said Thor.

“Ah, I see. I should have known you would never have asked about _us_.”

Loki clenched his fist and shook it twice. A long snarl followed, before he let out a choked laugh and strode over towards the bed, and – without any thought – threw himself onto the blankets with no glance towards Thor. The blankets creased and wrinkled, while Loki sought around with long fingers for the cup he earlier found to be such a source of amusement, and returned to his game of catch . . . _up and down, up and down_. . . a horrific stab of guilt nearly doubled Thor over, as he opened his mouth to reassure Loki, only to stop dead.

He knew Loki would believe no ‘empty sentiments’. Thor instead drew in a deep breath and cast his eyes again down the halls, where the other prisoners continued with their lives and the world spun ever onward, and – with a wince – he noticed that those kept behind the barriers were low-risk and short-term stays. Frigga must have truly pulled some strings to keep Loki from suffering the indignity of his rightfully due punishment. Loki called out:

“It will depend upon Helblindi.”

Thor rapidly blinked. He looked back to Loki, still playing catch with that infernal cup, and slowly forced his breathing to hold back the urge to shout, as he reminded himself where shouts and screams and sighs got them both before this moment. _Exile. Violence. Genocide_. It was difficult to think, especially with the small rhythmic smacks of metal on skin, and Thor ran a hand through his blond hair as he knitted his brow and shook his head. Loki remained oblivious toward Thor’s growing anxieties and conflicts, even as he kicked at the floor.

“Father said nothing about Jotunheim,” said Thor.

“No? Well, why would he?” Loki scoffed and dropped the cup. “You have not forgotten I am currently locked in these dungeons for the act of attempted genocide, correct? Jotunheim need reassurance that justice has been delivered, as well as that I am no further threat. Theoretically, we have some years to resolve the issue. The Bifrost is currently closed.”

“It may well be, but Father will use what little magic he has left,” said Thor. “He will deliver himself to Jotunheim where he will seek audience with Helblindi, and – after that – we will have a few years to enact whatever deal is tentatively reached between them.”

“Let us hope then that Helblindi does not demand my head.”

“Blood is everything to the Jotuns.” Thor ran a hand over his beard. “There is no greater crime than to spill the blood of your kin, but – likewise – that means Helblindi will likely refuse to spill your blood even in retaliation. I would imagine he would seek some form of imprisonment or perhaps for your magic to be suppressed. There is also your true form.”

“Aye, but even the Allfather is not _so_ barbaric as to expect me to wear the guise of a Jotun, even in punishment, or at least . . . I pray that is not the case. I also pray he will not force on me those chains and collars, as I have caught glimpses of Lorelei and can only imagine the madness of being suppressed for so long. You had your strength taken from you, Thor, how you bore it for three days – let alone the three hours I endured – I know not.”

Thor laughed with a sincere smile. Three days without his _seiðr_ was indeed torture, but so much of his strength was also physical and strategic, and so he bore with the indignity as best as he could endure and resigned himself to his fate. He looked to Loki. Loki sat upright and crossed his legs much like a child, while he held the cup in his lap and played with the metal out of a nervous desire to remain occupied, and Thor struggled to envision how Loki would cope without his one defining trait: _seiðr_. Thor winced and shook his head.

They drew so much of their strength from Asgard, but so much was also taught and learned and natural to their born abilities, and yet the idea of seeing Loki forced onto the level of any other Asgardian . . . perhaps even forced into Jotun form, perhaps imprisoned for life . . . it brought tears to Thor’s eyes and turned his mouth dry. He stepped back and rapidly blinked, as he dropped his shoulders and let his hands fall to his sides without much grace.

“I must leave, Loki,” whispered Thor.

“You would leave me again?”

“I will make sure Mother continues to visit you,” swore Thor. “I simply cannot bring myself to watch you caged like this, as if you were no more than an animal in a zoo, and I also need time to collect my feelings about you. I think you need time to do the same. We have both destroyed each other’s trust, as such we need to make amends and time to heal.”

“Do you know I always used to think you _so_ noble, Thor,” muttered Loki. “You never allowed either of us to be penetrated, so we would both avoid the stigma of _‘ergi’_ , and you claimed it made us equals. Now I see you were simply being sated elsewhere.”

“It was not like that. I would have been absolutely faithful to you, had you let me, but you insisted that we remain non-exclusive while we grew into young men, and then – as the men we are now – constantly pushed and provoked me . . . it seems like we alternated between ‘lovers’ and ‘exes’ every other year, until you – _you, Loki_ – told me it was permanently over before I was exiled to Earth. Just because you chose to remain chaste, does not mean –”

“I am bored now. If you wish to leave, just leave.”

Loki dropped back onto the bed.

Thor was caught between laughter and screams. He raised his hand high and pointed his finger to Loki, while he curled his lip and shook his head, but Loki – with a raised leg and hands clasped over his stomach – hummed an old tune from their childhood. Thor opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He dropped his hand. The racing of his heart was matched only by the blurring of his vision, until the adrenaline that coursed through him threatened to break him, and he let out a long sigh with a murmured:

“My absence is only temporary, Loki.”

“Without your bit on the side to sustain you -?” Loki laughed. “You will be back as soon as your erection becomes too constant to hide. You will use your powers as prince to be let into my cell, and I will use my powers as the ‘trickster’ to hide us in plain sight, and all the while you will _use_ me as if I am no more than a toy at your disposal . . . well, what more can I expect from one that thinks so little for me as to replace me with a mere human?”

“This is why we must have time apart.” Thor furrowed his brow. “You think that I _cheated_ on you, but the truth is that you long ago told me that we were to be brothers and nought else! I no more cheated on you than you could cheat on me with your own hand. Do I regret my actions? Yes. I regret that I hurt you. I regret I brought you to this point, but I –”

“I will let the guards know I no longer wish to see you.”

Thor let out a roar of sheer rage. He spun around to slam a fist onto the stone of the cell behind him, where knuckles turned red and the stone indented with the pressure of his blow, and Loki – never flitting, never moving – watched with an impassive expression. Thor threw himself back around and marched toward the barrier, where he jabbed his finger in the direction of Loki and curled his lip even as tears threatened to spill down his cheeks. Loki cocked his head to the side, while Thor waited for his lip to stop trembling to whisper:

“Fine, let this be our last visit.”

Loki said nothing as he walked away. Thor only managed a few steps before emotions overwhelmed him. He looked over his shoulder to Loki not reclining on the bed, but – with leg raised and so much distance between them – it was impossible to view his expression, even as Thor almost fooled himself into seeing a tear running into his black hair. Thor turned away again and pinched the bridge of his nose, as he bent over and called back:

“Goodbye, Loki.”


	3. Chapter 3

_‘I fear you are too hard on Loki.’_

_Frigga quietly sat beside Odin. The only sound was the slight rustle of her skirts, as she brushed them out from underneath and folded them at the sides, so that there would be no creases or discomfort from the folds of heavy material. Odin said nothing, even as he reclined on the sofa with his arms stretched across the back, and – as he threw back his head and parted his legs – she smiled to see the young man that still slipped through his aged expression. The lines deepened about his brow, but the soul was ever the same._

_It took all her strength to remain patient, as he said nothing in response. Frigga leaned down against him, where she rested her head on his chest, and – with a sad smile – she listened to his heart that no longer seemed as strong in recent years, while he ran his callused fingers through her blonde locks of hair. A breeze from the open balcony blew through the living quarters adjacent to their bedroom, where it kept them both alert and awake._

_Odin brought his other hand to rest on her shoulder, where he massaged the tense muscles through the purple silk of her dress, and it brought a relieved sigh to her lips, as he worked out the painful knot below. There were sounds from a nearby balcony, as armour clinked and someone sighed, while far below Frigga heard the grunts and mutters of someone in the midst of a sparring contest, and around them the world turned, even as Loki remained locked within the dungeons awaiting a permanent decision on his punishment. Odin whispered:_

_‘You know as well as I that Loki must be punished.’_

_‘Aye, but you do not see what I see,’ said Frigga. ‘He sought to destroy the Jotun race to win your favour; clearly, his perception is warped and his sense of ethics is skewed, which leaves it to us to help fix his moral compass. He also fears rejection above all else, and I fear that leaving him to the dungeons will add to his sense of abandonment.’_

_‘That is why I have allowed you and Thor to take audience with him.’ Odin drew in a deep breath. ‘If his actions had been even more severe, even that I may have been forced to deny him, but what you ask of me is to pardon him of the act of attempted genocide. That I cannot do, not even for my queen. What I desire is some sign of repentance, as – perhaps then – we can argue for a sustained period of house arrest. I will not abandon my son.’_

_‘I know that, my love, but does Loki?’_

_‘Loki only sees what he wishes to see, that much is true.’_

_Odin let out a long sigh. He stilled his hand on Frigga’s head, where he spread out his fingers and tensed as if refraining from a hard grip, and – with a shuddered exhale – he gently cupped her cheeks and guided her face upward. Frigga smiled to see those blue eyes, even as they shimmered with unshed tears, and her hands came up to cup his in turn, as he pressed his forehead against hers and shared in a warm breath, mouths close enough to touch. Odin pressed a chaste kiss to her lips, as he swore in a firm voice:_

_‘I swear I will do all that I can to protect him from himself.’_

* * *

Jotunheim was unrecognisable.

Odin cast his eye over the landscape. The most prominent of buildings, almost entirely around the capitol centre of the city, were now smouldering ruins or slashed into pieces, and all around stood piles of rubble and overcrowded abodes, where a few children peeked out from behind glass to view an Asgardian for the first time in their lives. There were men on the streets with visible gashes or broken bones, some even lacking various limbs . . .

It was once a land of remarkable beauty. Even once the Casket was taken, Odin remembered – beyond the walls, beyond the desolate outskirts – a city thrived with almost the entirety of the realm’s population, with buildings that reached to the sky and the illusion of beyond. The stone and ice prevalent to Jotunheim provided great insulation, malleability and was cost-efficient to those that required such materials, while the infrastructure was carved through caves only comprehensible to the local population. It was rich in culture.

Odin noted that he was being led around the city walls, even as his boots crunched down the thick layers of snow and left small imprints of his path taken, and – glancing around the vast miles on miles of pure white surface – he noted that Býleistr came to meet him alone. They headed towards cliff edges that almost hid a small village from sight, although a part of Odin suspected there was more than met the eye deep within the caves in the cliff edge. 

“We are quite close to the outskirts,” observed Odin.

Býleistr stopped dead in his tracks. He looked down at Odin with a quirked eyebrow, as if to judge him for stating the obvious, and his huge muscles bulged with his clenched fists and squared shoulders, as he gritted his teeth and pursed his lips. Odin looked behind him to see a small stall made from furs and stone, almost flush against a wall of rocks between the village and capital, where a line of men waited to be assigned food from sacks. _Rations_. Odin cast his gaze back, while Býleistr continued walking towards the village with a cold reply:

“We plan on making changes to the layout of our city.”

“Are such changes necessary?”

“Are they necessary for our defence? Yes.” Býleistr forced a sarcastic smile. “Laufey built our city in concentric circles, mainly for the sake of convenience, but – lo and behold – a direct attack upon our city had the obvious effect of knocking out specific services in their entirety, especially regarding our seat of government and administration. Thank you for that.”

“I see, you seek to gain some security in spacing out your buildings and services, perhaps even placing some on the outskirts or towns and cities outside of the capital.  This is an ingenious idea, but – as you say – inconvenient. We will not strike you again.”

“Let’s not start our meeting with insincere promises.”

Býleistr led the way toward an old barn. The stone walls betrayed what was once stables on the outside, now covered with leathers and bearing in each ‘stall’ a family that sought shelter, while lights on the inside were kept so low that it was difficult to see the occupants. A Jotun played a strange instrument from inside, which sounded almost like an ocarina to the untrained ear, while a few people gossiped and whispered too low to decipher words.

Odin struggled to feign confidence, as the cold and exhaustion tore through him. The magic taken to reach Jotunheim was extreme in amount, while his advancing age caused every joint to ache with a severity matched by no other point in his life. Býleistr flung open the door. A small bar was revealed, where a few men nursed pewter mugs of mead, while the rest of the converted barn – great in expanse, covered completely with tables of ice – was crowed with families, guards, and stray people in search of loved ones. A few slumped . . . injured.

It was chaos inside the bar. Odin noted a few of the royal guards drawing names from a mug, before several people would flee to the upper floor to apparently randomly assigned rooms, while others were handed basic essentials as their names were checked from lists. The majority wore only the traditional loincloths, but others appeared to drape their upper bodies in furs or decorate their limbs with leather accessories, all unnecessary for protection.

“I see the fashion has changed,” said Odin.

A chuckle echoed from the bar. Odin looked to see a far smaller Jotun clad in a thick fur cape and hood, which hide his face from sight, and – as he sat with a nearly full glass of some unidentified liquid – he turned his head just enough to look at Odin. Býleistr signalled for Odin to take a seat beside the man, while several guards stood covertly around them. The music played slightly louder, while the musician moved somewhat closer.   

Odin said nothing, even as Býleistr sat on his other side. A tall mug of ale was slid down the bar and caught by Býleistr, who lifted it high and slammed it before Odin, and liquid spilled over the rim and stained the bar beneath Odin’s gloved hands. The man beside him laughed again, but this time more vociferous and with a clap on his back, as if Odin were no more than any other commoner or refugee that sought refuge in the old barn. Odin sat tall and narrowed his gaze, while he gulped at his ale and spat out in a low voice:

“Did I amuse you?”

“Not at all,” chirped the stranger. “I simply found your observation astute. Yes, the fashion has changed here in the past millennium. I suppose it’s only natural when the current king – _then_ prince _–_ is half-Asgardian in form, as so many people see him draped in cloths and furs and seek to emulate his style, as if from style comes status. Tell me, do you endure the same?”

“I do not follow,” said Odin.

“Your eye-patch, I mean.” The stranger leaned on his fist. “Do you people look at you and think ‘ _well, a king is wearing one, and I’d so love to be just like a king’_ , or do they think instead ‘ _well, it’s hardly practical when our race is so dependent on peripheral vision, so perhaps I ought to think of function before fashion’_? If it’s the latter, it might explain why the aim of the Bifrost was slightly off. Lucky, else the death count would be so much higher.”

“I am afraid I am not here for small-talk,” spat Odin. “I seek audience with Helblindi.”

“Ah, Helblindi! Do you mean that handsome chap beloved by all?”

A dark realisation dawned on Odin. He lifted the ale to his lips and downed the rest, before he slammed down the mug and raised his hand to prevent another being provided, all as he watched his new companion swirling the contents of his glass in turn, as he watched the swirling liquid with piercing green irises set on red eyes. A lock of black hair fell about that blue face, where high cheekbones were covered with familiar raised lines, and Odin used all his self-control to hold back a wince at such familiar features. He pursed his lips with a sigh.

“You are Helblindi,” said Odin.

Helblindi pushed back a lock of hair, as he looked behind Odin to Býleistr. There was no need to follow his gaze, as the loud grunt made it clear how Býleistr longed to be anywhere else in their realm, and yet Helblindi simply half-closed his eyes and shook his head with a smile, as he returned his attentions to his untouched drink. The smile faded briefly for a second, only for Helblindi to say in a quiet and lifeless voice:

“If it helps, I’m not _really_ beloved by all.”

“Is that so?”

“Our Council wanted Býleistr to assume the throne,” admitted Helblindi. “Look at him! He’s everything you could _want_ from a Jotun king . . . a strong warrior whose biggest muscle is not quite his brain, but instead his brawn . . . although – well – it _is_ impressive brawn, and were he not my brother -? Hmm, I would not be averse to an official union.”

“Yet they chose you over Býleistr?”

“No, he chose to allow me to take the throne as the eldest. Laufey was unable to pick an heir before his death, but I think that’s _rather_ understandable, don’t you? The one knife we never see coming is the one that penetrates our backs. I could pity him . . . _could_ , but I don’t. In any case, I am playing my part of king well. I have created new architectural plans for all new buildings, to better withstand attack and with more places for people to take refuge.

“I also rather liked my idea of changing the layouts of our towns and cities, particularly that of the capital, so that resources are shared and no given service is solely in one specific location, as – _that way_ – if you deliver us a blow again . . . well, perhaps we won’t lose an entire generation of children for all our schools being located beside one another.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” whispered Odin.

“No, you are sorry you may face recompense for our loss.”

Helblindi grunted and raised his hand. Another drink was slid down the table, but – this time – he caught it and pushed it towards Odin with a dramatic roll of his hand, before he pointed to the mug and gestured to Odin’s mouth. Odin sniffed at the mug, while Býleistr scoffed and shook his head . . . _‘if we meant to kill you, we wouldn’t use poison’_. . . Odin ignored the remark, even as his head grew light and familiar warmth passed over his skin, as he sipped at the alcohol. He noted it was stronger, designed for the Jotun physique. Helblindi asked:

“Do you know why I am so free with information?”

“Simple,” said Odin. “You have nothing to lose.”

“That and you can learn a lot from a man that likes to talk.” Helblindi smiled. “I find that it helps your opponents to underestimate you, thinking you are about to give them all they desire, and they get cocky . . . flippant . . . you have tells, Odin. You told me with your micro-expressions that you thought Laufey’s death just, but that you experience immense guilt over the fact we have lost fifteen percent of our population. That is good to know.”

“You are like your father. He, too, could judge a person with great perception, however he would keep his cards close to his chest and would not reveal his true motivations. I cannot get a read of you Helblindi. Are you bluffing? Double bluffing? If you seek to play to my presumed guilt, you must be aware that politics are based not on emotion alone.”

“Ah, how sweet, you seek to educate me on basic politics.”

The smirk turned dangerous. Helblindi held onto his glass by its rim, fingers spread as he swirled the contents, and he lowered his gaze so that his hood cast dark shadows under his eyes, and – though he maintained the illusion of civility – it was clear there lay anger unlike any other behind his expression. It briefly reminded him of Frigga or Laufey, where there was never a need to shout or raise one’s voice, and how the ever-present smile only made more terrifying the undercurrents of white-hot rage. Helblindi chuckled and chirped:

“I want you to return Loki to me.”

Odin chugged down the remains of his drink. He slammed the mug down and raised a hand to signal to Býleistr another was not needed, but – even as the alcohol warmed his veins and brought a sweat to his skin – he heard his heart race loud in his ears. Odin clenched a fist around the mug until his knuckles turned white, while his breathing picked up speed and became ever shallower as he strove to keep a low voice. He asked:

“Is this why you sought to get me drunk?”

“My, here I simply thought myself to be hospitable.” Helblindi gasped. “Do you know what further offence you have caused me? I try and I try and I _try_ to be civil and diplomatic, but here you accuse me of being underhanded and manipulative . . . for shame, Odin Borson.”

“Do not play games, Helblindi. I am in no mood to humour you.”

“I do not seek to be humoured. I seek for my brother.”

Odin stood tall. He placed closed fists against the bar. Býleistr made to rise in turn, but it took a mere roll of the eyes from Helblindi to force him back into his seat, and – with a long-suffering sigh – Helblindi stood next to Odin. He towered over Odin by a good foot, while he crossed his arms across his chest and creased the fabric of his tunic-styled top. The hood of his cape fell down revealing long black hair, while those green eyes watched Odin with a sharp level of perception, and Odin noted that a spark of _seiðr_ ran through the air. Odin spat:  

“Loki is not your brother, Helblindi.”

“Ah, now we get to the crux of our dilemma.” Helblindi pushed his drink away. “By Asgardian law, an adopted child is equal to that of a biological child. Loki – by _your_ laws – is no different to Thor and entitled to the exact same rights, which includes the right to challenge Thor for the crown and to take the crown should Thor be unable. I admire such a system, especially when we currently have a great increase of orphans.”

“Will you always seek to try and instil such guilt?” Odin asked. “I have great sympathy for the generation lost, as well as the survivors that suffer, but we shall get nowhere in our negotiations should you constantly seek to attack my psyche with such horrors.”

“Hmm, is that what you think I seek to accomplish?”

“Get to your point, Helblindi.”

“My _point_ is that our law is very different, Odin. _Blood trumps all else_. A child can never be named after any other than their biological parent, while no other can ever lay a parental or familial claim, and – on that parent’s death – they have equal claim to any of the estate, property, and general finances. Loki is my blood. By our law, I own him.”

Odin curled his lip, but Helblindi raised a hand. A few seconds passed, before Helblindi let loose that same devilish smile and jerked his head towards the windows, and – with slow movements – he led Odin through the crowd to watch the world behind the barn. Býleistr followed behind with a couple of guards, who were able to force the general people at some distance, and from their expressions they now realised royalty walked among them.

It was almost impressive how Helblindi was able to force a public audience in an almost natural manner, with now the many refugees listening to their conversation with great judgement, and no longer did he negotiate with just a king, but instead . . . with a people. He glanced outside to the world beyond, where the line of refugees by the stall of rations dispersed, and – with a wince – Odin noticed the rations had finally run out. A few of the older men split their shares with the younger, while a few families were offered sympathies.

Odin thought back to blood spilled in their pasts. The murals that were painted over . . . the history books rewritten . . . too many lives lost, too many people harmed . . . Odin took in a deep breath and turned his back to the windows, instead to gaze out over the many people cramped and crowded into a space not designed for so many to congregate. He owed the Jotun race a great many deal of things, but Loki could never be one. He said:

“I cannot return Loki to you.”

“Ah, now _this_ was what I wished to discuss,” laughed Helblindi. “You may have noticed my people are in no position to wage war, _but_ you also may have noticed that war is a potential issue, or else – well – you wouldn’t be here enduring my small talk. You see, Asgardian law would only trump Jotun law if Loki were _legally_ taken by Asgard.”

Odin paled. He noticed the majority of the Jotuns were out of earshot, kept at bay by the guards and Býleistr, but – even as Odin kept his voice low – Helblindi projected with the talent of an actor on a stage, so that those closest could hear his every word. Helblindi sought to maintain an image of a man with nothing to hide, as well as win the popular opinion of those around him, while Odin . . . voice low, a stranger to their land . . . appeared as if he had something to hide. Helblindi turned to lean into his personal space with a smile, as he asked:

“You see what I mean, yes?”

“Loki was abandoned by Laufey,” said Odin.

“No, I was _just_ old enough to remember events.” Helblindi smirked. “Still, even if you do expect me to believe a newborn babe – during a brutal war – would be left in a temple on the outskirts of the city simply to die -? You were given no permission. You took that child without any papers being signed or contracts being agreed, which means we _never_ relinquished our claim and that means our claim is still in play. Loki is ours.

“Now the truth is out. We may be too weak to wage war, but what of the other realms . . . those that you conquered, those from which you stole your gold . . . I wonder how they will react to know that you not only _stole_ a crowned prince, but also allowed fifteen percent of our population to be slaughtered and came here with nothing but arrogance.”

“You seek to threaten me with war? Do you not long for peace?”

“You also murdered our father,” muttered Býleistr.

Helblindi choked on the air. He threw a hand over his mouth to hide his laughter, before he finally composed himself and reached out to slap Býleistr on the back of his head, and – despite the sibling displays of affection and frustration – Býleistr simply shrugged and mumbled in a dark voice: _‘it’s true’._ Helblindi shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, while a familiar expression of irritation betrayed his otherwise stoic facade, and Odin was all too reminded of his childhood with Fárbauti. Helblindi said with a sigh:

“Býleistr was blunt, but he is correct.”

Odin turned back to the window. A strong blizzard picked up outside, so that whirls of white obscured the world beyond, and – as the wind howled and lashed at the panes of glass – he watched as snow piled up on the sill and grew ever higher. The men appeared unaffected by the sudden cold, but he was forced to draw his furs closer around him, as his gloved fingers grew numb and a sharp stabbing pain overtook his joints. Odin asked in a murmur:

“What do you want from me?”

“Two things,” said Helblindi. “The first is the Casket of Ancient Winters.”

“The last time that was in your possession –”

“It was never in _my_ possession, but that of my father.” Helblindi waved a hand and shrugged. “We shall need the Casket in order to power _our_ bridge; you have hindered us long enough in our trade and transport, which isn’t to mention it proving a vital energy source, and – with its power – we can rebuild to our former glory. You worry we shall try to wage war? Do not worry. I have plans that would put your mind to rest on _that_ issue.”

“Aside from contracts and formal alliances?” Odin shook his head. “You will rely on the other realms to keep you in check, assuming that they will fight alongside Asgard should you break your word and put at risk all nine. This hardly puts my mind at rest.”

“Actually, this links into my _second_ demand. You see, I am _unfortunately_ unable to provide an heir for reasons that I care not to divulge, but I am required to provide an heir in order to secure my position on the throne. Trust me, you would much rather have me rule Jotunheim than some of the men around here. There are many _demanding_ war with Asgard.”

“Tell me, Helblindi, how shall Asgard provide you with this heir?”

“Well, that is where Loki comes into things.”

Odin scoffed and walked back to the bar. He sat down at the same stool, while the same guards returns to flank him, and waited while Helblindi and Býleistr sat on either side of him once more, as another mug was flung down the bar to him. Odin noticed this time the liquid was mulled wine, warmed to ease his suffering in the intense climate, and – as he sipped – he curled his lip and pointed out what was soon becoming an obvious fact:

“You never wanted Loki to be returned to you.”

Helblindi rolled his eyes and glanced to Býleistr, who gave the universal gesture of ‘I don’t know’ and returned to his drink with a subtle smirk, and – as Helblindi let out a soft sigh – it appeared something deeper ran between the two siblings. Odin observed Helblindi with a careful gaze; he noted a long scar on the inside of his palm, which was as prominent as it looked painful, while Helblindi looked otherwise to be in perfect health. There was no obvious reason why no heir could be provided, but Odin had suspicions. Helblindi confessed:

“Of course, I will always wish for my brother’s return.”

“Is that your official position?”

“Well, officially, it does give us political right in seeking recompense.” Helblindi laughed and sipped his drink. “The way I see it, you owe us _twice_. I will accept the Casket as recompense for the act of attempted genocide, which shall be delivered to us once the Bifrost is repaired, as – well – your magic will not afford you two more trips. We will sign documents to swear that is recompense enough, along with any peace treaties.

“You still owe us recompense for Loki, which – for _that_ sin – we would have every right to break such treaties and declare war, as your outstanding debts would not have been paid, and the Casket and all that entails -? It only covers you going forward, but it does not cover you going _back_ , Allfather. I will write off all other debts in return for an heir.”

“And how shall Loki provide you this heir?”

“Well, usually, we have this thing called ‘sex’,” said Helblindi. “You see when one Jotun meets another Jotun, they often fall in love and decide to pledge eternal fidelity, and – when they moment comes – they shall lie together in bed and –”

Odin threw himself back onto his feet. The curl of his lip was matched only by the reddening of his cheeks, while his nostrils flared and eyes narrowed, and – even as all guards stood on high alert – he allowed his natural _seiðr_ to spark and surge, ready to defend his son even in his absence. He looked Helblindi over. Helblindi simply quirked an eyebrow in return, while he cocked his head to the side and pursed his lips, and Odin – sneering with a sound unrecognisable to all – slammed his palm down on the table and shouted:

“You wish to _bed_ Loki?”

“ _Heavens, no_! He is not my type.”

“Then what, Helblindi?”

“I ask that you formally disown Loki,” said Helblindi. “If you keep your claim, it will only cause a _great_ deal of frustration later on, as the other realms will have cause to argue the legitimacy of any potential heir . . . ‘ _it is Asgardian, for Loki is adopted’, ‘no, he is Jotun, for his is of Laufey’s blood’_. . . I have a headache just thinking about it. No, I want you to disown Loki, and – _before you ask_ – marry him off before the Bifrost is fixed.”

“And the point of such a marriage would be . . .?”

“I will _not_ admit that he is your son, as the walls always have ears, but I will admit that you _see_ him as a son. You will worry disowning him will give us a direct claim, one that cannot be argued and fought with the issue of whether his adoption was legitimate or illegitimate, and that you will have no choice but to hand Loki over once the Bifrost is complete. If you disown Loki, you relinquish your claim to Loki and all rights revert to me.

“It is also a fact Loki _needs_ to be disowned, so that I can gain sole claim over any child he provides and name them as my heir. This could be fixed with a marriage. If he is wed to an Asgardian, it would allow him to retain all rights to remain on Asgard. I suggest you marry him to Thor, as it will be _impossible_ to part a prince consort from their prince, even if I was so inclined to bother fighting things on that score. They can have two children. I will take whichever is more Jotun in nature, or the first if no other is provided.”

Odin slumped back into his seat. He fought the urge to run his hands through his grey locks, while the cold bit at his cheeks and brought pins-and-needles to his ears, and – as he gazed into the steam from the mulled wine – he tried to ignore his racing heart. Loki had brought them to the brink of war, while the Nine Realms would have no choice but to side with Jotunheim for such misdeeds, and his hands were officially tied. Odin whispered:

“You seek for an heir and the Casket?”

“The Casket for the act of genocide,” said Helblindi. “An heir for the kidnap of a prince.”

“If I am to even consider this, Helblindi,” said Odin, “I will ask for contracts to be drawn up while I am still here in Jotunheim. Any child that Loki provides shall _remain_ on Asgard, until the day that they are required to rule on Jotunheim, and the two shall not be parted.”

“In that case, I require a month each year with them in my palace. They will need to learn about our customs and laws and beliefs, while this will also secure _peace_ between us, as our heir will have grown with knowledge of Jotunheim . . . I know you taught Loki to believe us monsters, but look what that wrought. I would teach my nephew to appreciate his heritage.”

“You are so sure it shall be a boy?”

“The Jotun race can only provide male heirs,” replied Helblindi. “If we have the contracts written now, will you _swear_ to keep any word marked by your signature? I require one heir from Loki, to secure my place upon this throne, and I require the Casket to be returned on the Bifrost’s completion, so as to restore our cities and help our people. There is only so much I can do by setting up refuge shelters. My people need homes, schools, and hospitals.”

“And how can I be sure that you will keep your word?”

“My father kept the peace treaties even until the end.” Helblindi gave a sarcastic smile. “I _do_ recall it was Thor that invaded our land, insulted our king, and _slaughtered_ our people, yes? You even graced us with your presence as your son screamed out his desire for war. I could probably ask for recompense for that, too, but . . . well . . . I don’t wish to push my luck.”

Odin drew in a deep breath, before he finished his wine. The alcohol had proved a soothing lubricant, taking away the sting of defeat, and such concessions – wrenched from him to avoid the wrath of the other realms and further bloodshed – only added to the deep sense of bitterness and resentment. He thought to Loki and could already envision the sense of betrayal, as well as the desire for death over forced reproduction, but a surrogate could well be provided to avoid any sense of violation. Odin sighed and asked again:

“An heir and the Casket for enduring peace?”

“An heir and the Casket, yes.”

Odin offered his hand:

“Deal.”


	4. Chapter 4

Frigga kept her head high.

The dungeons were dark and clammy, illuminated only from the lights within each cell, and – from those cells – eerie shadows were thrown across the hallways, as each and every shadow danced into the next and provided an almost entertaining lightshow. Dust caught at the hem of her blue dress, while the customised armour about her chest merged beautifully with her shawl and skirts so that it looked simply a decorative item of mere fashion.

A few men stood close to the energy barrier of their cells. Frigga turned her back on them, even as they murmured about the sight of a noble walking freely the hallways, and a loud shout from the guards soon had them stumbling away with muttered complaints. The chatter and noise soon died away, leaving only the sounds of turning pages and sparring matches and occasionally even bodily functions like burps or yawns. It was a far cry from the elegance and rigid social codes of the palace above. Frigga pulled her shawl closer to her chest.

Loki sat against the column of wall at the corner of his cell, where the two energy barriers met, and – with the decorative iron table beside him, laden with food and wine – he flicked various pages of his book with a disinterested expression. He stretched his long legs before him, dressed in a simply green tunic and black trousers, with a sleeveless black jacket over his body. He wore his hair brushed back in a neat style, but not slicked with product.

“I see you are enjoying that new novel,” observed Frigga.

Loki lifted his green eyes to meet her gaze. A brief smile tugged at the corner of his lips, before he looked back to the book and traced a finger down the yellowing page, and – with a slight scoff – slid a leather bookmark between the pages. He closed it with a great deal of respect, even as he tapped the cover with long and hard pokes of his finger, and the pursing of his lips revealed a disdain for the story in question. If it belonged to anyone else but Frigga, he may well have disposed of the book or even destroyed the book.

“Romantic drivel,” muttered Loki.

Frigga smiled even despite the situation. The memories associated with the book were strong, as if Odin were giving it to her anew . . . _‘I believe you shall enjoy the story; it is of a prince and princess from different realms, both forbidden to be together and destined to remain apart, and through it all their love defies all odds’_. . . Frigga wondered whether Loki had yet to find the inscription, hidden by Odin’s _seiðr_. Loki asked in a quiet voice:

“So, you have deigned to visit me in person?”

“Do not be rude, Loki,” chided Frigga. “I have visited you daily in these cells, but you must realise that it has been difficult to attend to you in person. Thor believes the dungeons to be no place for a queen, while our people clamour for a symbolic figure to help unify them during this political crisis, and now your father has fallen ill yet again.”

“That man is _not_ my father,” spat Loki. “I also know that our conversations have lasted hours on some of my days spent here, and surely that time could have been spent walking to the dungeons and abiding the stench here for a few minutes at a time?”

“ _A few minutes_ , Loki, yes. That is not enough for a mother.”

A guard coughed from the main station. He stood while another guard came down the spiral staircase, where he carried a stool in hand, and – as those on either side of the stairwell saluted – he marched towards Frigga and placed the stool beside her, where he gave an exaggerated bow and avoided her gaze. Frigga nodded toward him and uttered a brief ‘thank you’, as he excused himself and returned to his post. All eyes were on her.

Frigga took the gift with gratitude, as she sat gracefully on the stool. In her peripheral vision, she caught a smile from one of the younger guards who must have suggested the idea of providing a small comfort to the queen, and she smiled in turn to see his happiness at having taken such an initiative. Loki folded his hands on his lap, while he turned to face her with a smirk that only pulled at half his mouth. The lines about his eyes betrayed his concern. Frigga said nothing, but allowed him to lead the conversation with a whispered:

“What is wrong with Odin Allfather?”

“He used what little magic was left to visit Jotunheim,” said Frigga. “It was apparently not enough to put off the Odinsleep for so long, adding to the risk that it may well have been his last, but now – only weeks after he has awoken – he uses every last ounce of strength to visit Helblindi to engage in political discourse. He is bedridden. I have thus volunteered to speak to you on his behalf, so I may reveal the plans for your imminent release.”

“Ah, so now we get to the crux of the matter.” Loki rapidly blinked and looked away. “He must have sought to placate the Jotuns to avoid the other realms warring on their behalf, seeing as – well – I _did_ technically attempt what they call ‘genocide’. Tell me, am I to be executed? Exiled? Am I to be cast aside like a broken puppet, good for no one?”

“The sin of such violence has already been paid, Loki. Your father has agreed – once the Bifrost is complete – to return the Casket to Jotunheim, so that they may restore their bridge to other worlds and regain an energy source to improve their civilisation.”

“Then why is it necessary for me to be released? And in what form?”

“Helblindi seeks to lay claim to you, Loki.”

Loki laughed. It was a broken and pathetic sound, until it finally died away with a shake of his head, and – slapping his thighs with a loud sigh – he pulled himself to his feet and stretched with a great arch of his back. Frigga noted how he paled. The whiteness to his cheeks was most unnatural, while black bags appeared under his eyes, and his cheeks looked sunken as he forced an eerie smile in an attempt to feign confidence. He paced a little, before he finally stood before her with arms clasped behind his back and legs parted.

“You may need to explain, Mother.”

“Your adoption was not a legal one, Loki,” confessed Frigga. “It is part of why we hid your heritage from you for so long, as – should Laufey have uncovered the truth – they would have legal rights to remove you from us, regardless of your age. I have been told that Helblindi views the Casket as recompense for the attempt of genocide, but that he does not view it as recompense for your perceived kidnap, as such . . . he wishes for your return.”

A deafening silence fell between them.

Frigga lowered her gaze, as Loki’s lips curled into a snarl. He hunched forward, as close to the energy barrier as he dared, while his hands came from behind his back to curl into fists, and one pointed an accusatory finger in her direction. The rage soon replaced panic, enough to add a flush to his cheeks and half-narrowed his eyes, and every muscle in his body tensed until the fabric on his arms strained with the bulging on his muscles. Loki spoke with such violence, in such a low voice, that a spray of spit followed every word.

“I will not leave to live with those _monsters_.”

“That is why we have come to a solution to sate all sides.” Frigga forced a shaky smile. “I need you to remain calm, Loki, as any displays of anger may result in a loss of your privileges, which means a loss of visitors to your cell. If you attempt to injure yourself, we may also have to sequester you in the infirmary. Stay calm, I implore you.”

“Why would I not be calm? What plan have you concocted?”

“There will be an arranged marriage.”

Loki threw his hands in the air. He paced back and forth, back and forth, until – with a solid kick – he smashed his foot violently against the energy barrier, where thousands of sparks emanated forth to temporarily blind her vision. Frigga threw an arm over her eyes. It was a good few seconds before she was able to blink away the afterimages on her retinas, while the guards stood on full alert and threatened to lurch forward. Frigga raised her hand to keep them at bay; Loki stumbled back, gasping for breath, and asked again in a quiet voice:

“To whom?”

The guards lowered their weapons, but stayed alert on the perimeter. Frigga noted the prisoners in other cells fell quiet, with a few edging closer to the border of their cells, and all eyes and ears strained to decipher the cause for Loki’s rage. He panted for breath. He struggled to breathe, as his eyes watered and he licked at his dry lips, and he raised a hand high with a finger pointed to the heavens, and wagged it in her direction.

“To whom am I expected to be married?”

“Thor,” whispered Frigga. “You will marry, Thor.”

Loki let out a high-pitched cry. It was one of sheer despair and surprise, as he stumbled back and braced himself against the far wall with a trembling hand, and – half-bent forward, pupils blown, mouth wide – he started to hyperventilate. The choked breaths followed one after another . . . _broken gasps, whimpered cries, loud moans_. . . Loki trembled all over, as he fought for air and even held his breath. Frigga jumped to her feet. A cold wave of adrenaline coursed through her, as she fought the urge to call for the guards. Panic. _Terror_.

“My _brother_ ,” spat Loki. “I am to marry my _brother_?”

“I know how you must feel –”

“No, you have _no_ idea.” Loki buried his hands into his hair. “Are you going to be the one to abide the stares, the whispers, the _judgement_? How is this even legal? How long as we to remain married? Do you know about his whores? Do you?” Loki laughed. “Even if he were to remain faithful, what about the issue of an heir? Every king needs an heir.”

“Loki, please, do not use that word.”

“What word? ‘Whore’? Fine, allow me to be _respectful_ about that mewling quim he abandoned on Earth, after fucking her to breaking point. If I am to be wed . . . _incestuously_ it appears . . . at least allow me to wed one that would make me a priority, not a second choice. Did Thor even agree to this? Does he know what you have planned? He will not agree to such a union! He would have let me die at the Bifrost. He abandoned me to these cells. He – He –”

Loki screamed. Frigga winced and raised both hands to the guards; they would not be able to hold back forever, especially as her heart raced and a cold sweat forced her skirts to cling to her legs, and – as she panted for breath – she saw how Loki dug his nails into his hair, until a few small rivulets of blood ran down his forehead and neck. A few seconds later, he grabbed at the mirror above his wash basin. He threw it square across the room.

The glass smashed against the energy barriers. Frigga threw her head to the side, lifting her hands high to block a blow decimated by the barrier, and – looking back with a heavy exhale of breath – hundreds of shards fell to the floor with a soft tinkle of sound. Loki wept as he stumbled over to his bed. He collapsed. Frigga bit into her lip, while her hands were clasped to her breast and she dug at the skin around her thumb, and every blink forced back tears that threatened to fall, as she hopped from foot to foot, desperate to embrace her son.

Loki soon controlled his breathing, while he curled up into a foetal position and stared aimlessly into space with unseeing eyes, and lifelessly toyed with the sheets as his fingers picked at the fabric. Frigga brushed away a tear with the base of her hand. A loud sniff reminded her of her place, and she silently gestured for the guards to give them some space, pleading with a slight scrunch of her eyes. They moved back. Frigga choked out:

“What is your most pressing concern?”

Loki rolled onto his back. He stretched out his legs, while he clasped his hands over his stomach, and – from such a distance – Frigga failed to see his face. The question lingered in the air, as she prayed that it would distract him from his despair, and perhaps a search for solutions would ease his concerns. Loki eventually let out a long sigh, as he pulled himself into a sitting position and hunched forward, while he pinched the bridge of his nose and licked at his lips with tears streaming down his face. Frigga cried at the sight.

“An heir,” said Loki. “Odin has pressed for an heir for _years_ now.”

“Asgard will one day require an heir, yes,” confessed Frigga. “You are young, Loki. If we cannot find a legitimate means to safely annul this union, there is always time for love and trust to develop into a physical union, and – if not – we can consider the usage of a surrogate, so that you will not be forced to carry to term. The Jotun race has but one biological sex, as such you could provide forth an egg or even carry the child, depending on your choice.

“The lower anus acts much like the oesophagus; once stimulated, a flap of skin will move much like with the epiglottis when one swallows, and it allows semen to enter the womb through another channel, as opposed to being wasted in the intestine. We never had need to discuss the issue of your potential pregnancy, as you were always rather . . . traditional.”

“You mean too afraid of the _ergi_ stigma?”

“Your father assumed you had no sexual desires.” Frigga forced a smile. “He assumed you would lead a chaste life, too interested in academics and politics to waste time with physical pursuits, and yet I always knew the truth. Your interests lay with men, while your morals forbade a penetrative union outside of matrimony, and as Thor was your brother –”

Loki raised a hand to silence her. A part of her feared he might question how she knew, especially as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, and she watched as he climbed to his feet and ran his hands through his hair. He sought to compose himself. Frigga stepped as close to the barrier as she dared, while Loki turned and opened his mouth as if to speak, only to rapidly slam it closed and furrow his brow. A few seconds past and he repeated the motion, before dropping his head with a heavy sigh. He looked up to ask:

“What do you mean ‘ _was’_ my brother?”

“You were officially disowned on Odin’s return.”

Loki laughed and whispered: “Of course.”

“Our claim would not trump Helblindi’s,” explained Frigga. “The disownment is simply for the benefit of our people, so that they will no longer view you as a rightful prince, and this will allow for you to be married by _our_ laws. The marriage will secure your place legally – by Asgardian laws _and_ by the laws of Jotunheim – as prince consort. A prince consort cannot be separated from their prince, as such you will be safe to remain with us . . . your family.”

“You – You _disowned_ me . . . I – I thought –”

“You are still our son, Loki.”

“How? How am I still your son?” Loki laughed through his tears. “Helblindi is now my legal guardian, as my blood sibling, and you have relinquished all claims to me, but still I am to be _grateful_ to be thrown scraps in the form of a marriage? Where shall we have our reception, Frigga? I am afraid this cell will not fit all those who would wish to celebrate.”

“You will be bound under house-arrest, as you must still be punished. You must also seek our healers regularly, as your mind is in need of ways to ease your pain. If you agree to this union, we will have you married in a small ceremony first thing tomorrow morn.”

“Oh, so I have a choice, then? How nice.”

Frigga said nothing.

The mention of her name cut deep . . . _‘he hurts others when he himself is hurt, as it is the only way he knows how to regain control and to feel less alone’_. . . it took all her strength to simply watch him pace, even as she heard footsteps to her far left. A lift of her head revealed Thor in the stairwell. He kept his distance, until she nodded her consent. Thor took a visible breath, before he walked towards her and stood by her side. The cell fell silent.

Loki stopped. He turned and sneered at sight of Thor. Thor remained silent in turn, dressed in casual attire that was mostly hidden by a brown leather cape, and – with head low, lips pressed into a thin line – he avoided Loki’s direct gaze. Frigga took a step away from Thor, adamant on retaining some distance lest Loki perceive it as taking a side, and soon Loki marched forward until his nose was a mere inch from the barrier, as his lip curled and he slammed a fist against the column beside him. Loki spat out with teary eyes:

“Do you know about this?”

“I know,” admitted Thor. “I agreed to the union.”

“I did not expect either of you to be pleased,” whispered Frigga. “You must know that I always knew and suspected of what lay between you both, and – at the very least – you loved each other once . . . it may not be an ideal union, but at least there is a foundation of attraction and mutual love. It is possible that you may fall in love once more, but – if that happens – I only ask you take time before you make public your affections.

“Your father can abide this union to secure your place on Asgard, but he will forever see you both as his sons and as equals, and it will take time for him to come to terms with the idea of what he will view as an incestuous union. I was able to hide from him your indiscretions before, as you broke our laws and moral codes, but now you are to be wed . . .”

“Our relationship is complicated,” spat Loki. “It is apparently about to be made even _more_ complicated, by a forced wedding to secure my right to permanent residency on the only planet that I have ever known! You know as well as I we could never annul.”

“Funny,” said Thor. “I remember once you longed for matrimony.”

“Oh, _don’t_ make me sound the hopeless romantic.”

“Fine, allow me to take all blame.” Thor sighed and shook his head. “You cannot pretend to have felt _nothing_ for me, yet then claim I was somehow unfaithful in the same breath, but fine . . . you say what you must, but know this: I will not allow Jotunheim to take you. If you do not agree to this wedding, I will gladly go to war to defend your right so stay here. _Home_.”

Loki blinked and jerked back his head. He raked Thor over with his eyes, before he quirked an eyebrow and looked to Frigga with a puzzled expression, and – as she nodded in response – the realisation dawned that they would rather war than allow Helblindi to forcibly take him from the only home he knew. Loki hunched his shoulders with a long sigh; he leant against the column and folded his arms, while he softened his expression and finally locked eyes with Thor, who looked back with a gentle smile. The silence grew comfortable once more.

“You always wanted a large wedding,” said Loki.

“I always wanted to stand by the one I loved most.” Thor winced and shrugged. “I ignored all of Father’s attempts to push me toward Sif, just as I ignored him when he sought to play matchmaker with others, and I did all this because I knew I could love no other as I loved you, but this was a union I thought that would never come. We were brothers.”

“You would have denied Asgard an heir forever? For me? I think not.”

“Indeed, which I was honest about from the start! I even swore that I would return to you once I found a surrogate to carry my seed, and that I would not marry any other, but that was still not good enough for you, was it, Loki? I will not lie and say I am happy. I would rather a grand ceremony borne from full consent, but I also know that it is _this_ or _nothing_ , and I would rather be able to openly be with you than to live a life without you.”

Loki rolled his eyes and stepped away. Thor raised a hand to signal to the guards, as three came to flank Thor and Frigga, while two others stood on either side of the main energy barrier, and – with a sudden renewed interest from the other cells – a burst of noise echoed throughout the dungeons. Frigga struggled to separate the various sounds of interested gossip from the ordered commands of the guards and other various noises, but Loki soon silenced them all with a deep bow and stood to glare at Thor with a dark smirk.

“Very well,” said Loki. “I will give my consent.”

“This is not designed as a punishment.”

“I know,” whispered Loki. “That does not make it any easier, especially when I am to be imprisoned within the palace. You may change my cell into a furnished room, but it is no less imprisonment, Thor, and forced consent is no less a lack of consent. You will also have earned a ‘bride’, while I will have only gained mockery for my assumed position.”

“If any woman or man dares to mock you, I will have them permanently dismissed,” swore Thor. “Come, Loki. I will guide you back to your rooms, where you belong. Mother and Sigyn will tend to you tonight, and I will see you in the morning.”

“You will see me for the last time as a brother –”

 “– and for the first time as a husband.”

The energy barrier was released. Loki stood at first with an eerie stillness, while the guards stood patiently to attention, and Frigga – with hands half-reached out – fought every urge to run to his side, as he remained ever fixed in place. A few long seconds passed, until Loki stepped out of his cell and stood before him. Thor threw out a hand and clasped a hand around Loki’s neck with a smile, brushing against his jaw with his thumb, while Frigga threw her arms around his waist and placed a kiss to his cheek. Thor said in a quiet voice:

“Come, Loki. Let us go.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Nervous, Brother?”

Thor jumped beside Loki. He rapidly blinked, before he turned his head. Loki looked exceptionally handsome, dressed in full formal attire, and – as his leather coat skirted against the marble tiles, golden horns adoring his headpiece with a grand glitter – he smirked a typical smile that almost struck Thor as ‘normal’. It was a confidence betrayed only by the stark white complexion and barely perceptible tremble to his lip.

The golden banners fluttered on either side of the long hallway. Thor noted that they perfectly matched the gold of Loki’s accessories and adornments, while the fire behind then – just before the grand doors to the rest of the palace – caught the metal of their attire and shimmered with beautiful movement, so that every flame brought their outfits to life. The huge doors before them stood as the only barrier between their life as brothers and a new life as husbands. Thor drew in a staggered breath and swallowed hard.

A few servants darted around them . . . _pieces of jewellery polished and given, helmets adjusted and fabrics moved, and food offered and wine declined_. . . they danced around with heads low and constantly bowing out of their way, both desperate to please the princes on their wedding day and desperate to avoid irritating two men already so afraid. Thor bit at his lips and feigned a smile, as he said through a low and broken laugh:

“I feel like we’ve had this conversation before.”

“Ah, then you won’t be surprised when I laugh at those feathers.”

“Really, Cow?” Thor nodded to his helmet. “I do not know why you are so attached to that monstrosity, especially as it looks far heavier than the one I must bear! I am surprised your back can stand the weight. Has that thing ever aided you in battle, Loki?”

“Oh, _please_ , have you forgotten our childhood so easily?” Loki laughed with a shrug. “One of my mere ‘tricks’ of mist left you wandering around in circles, and one throw of this helmet was able to gouge a hole in your side with little issue. You weren’t mocking me _then_ , were you? I will admit that I probably ought to have released the mist a little sooner.”

“Ah, yes, I remember! I wandered for over an hour with a bloody side.”

“Mother found you and broke the spell to tend to you.”

“Father found _you_ and spanked you red.”

Loki laughed and clasped his hands before him. He rocked back and forth on his heels, while he smiled a devilish smirk at the old memory, and – for a moment – Thor could see his brother back beside him. A servant came before them with two goblets of wine; he bowed low and whispered a congratulations, even as he kept his gaze low and his hand trembled, and yet the words felt meaningless when spoken by so many and so often. Loki rolled his eyes and shooed the servant away with a sneer. Thor chuckled and chirped:

“Those were good times. Good memories.”

He reached out to clasp a hand on Loki’s neck. Thor wrapped his fingers around that soft column, although he winced at how cold the skin was to the touch, and yet – as his thumb stroked at that sharp jaw – he struggled to hold back a smile. Loki turned his head with a smile once more, leaning into the hand with an almost nuzzle. They locked eyes. Thor allowed the touch to linger for a long minute, until he gently pulled away to whisper:

“I will miss this, Loki.”

“We never lost this before,” replied Loki. “The only difference is that now we are official . . . public . . . still, our friends will view us as brothers, as will your father, and so even our displays of affection will not change. It shall all be private touches and hidden glances, until they grow used to the idea and forget that I was ever an ‘Odinson’.”

“Loki, I know that you feel abandoned, but Father had no other choice. He was forced to disown you in order to save you, and all that has changed is a mere name. You are still his son. You still bear the memories, aspects of his character, the bond of familial love –”

“I would rather risk war than to publicly reject a child of mine.”

“You say that, Loki, but you are loyal to a fault.” Thor smiled. “You hide your actions behind ‘mischievousness’, but your intent is ever clear to me. I remember you alerted the guards to our whereabouts on Jotunheim, which led to Father rescuing us from my mistake, and I remember you once using your illusions to tell Father how I sought to steal a plane, which led to me avoiding battle with one that would have surely permanently maimed me.”

The rest did not need to be said . . . _‘you would do anything you must to protect those that you love and cherish’_. . . Loki pursed his lips and cast his eyes away, while he folded his arms across his chest and gazed towards the main doors. Music drifted through the hallway. It was clear the ceremony was about to start, which was enough for Thor’s stomach to churn and for bile to rise to the back of his throat, and – as he hunched just slightly – Loki caught his subtle gesture and flinched. Loki licked at his lips and eventually choked out:

“Thor, you act as if we can go back to how things were.”

“It was my hope, I will admit,” said Thor.

“You will ignore how I lied to you, tried to _kill_ you, and destroyed a good portion of the Jotun population?” Loki scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You will ignore the weeks I spent under house-arrest or the weeks I spent in the dungeons? You will ignore that I am being _forced_ as Loki Laufeyson to marry a man that was once my brother? This cannot be ignored.”

“No, but I seek to see this as a blessing in disguise. I am being forced just as much as you, Loki, and I am furious that we shan’t open these doors to cheering masses and loud cheers, just as I am furious to have the _choice_ stolen from me. That being said . . . I always longed to make our union official, but laws forbade our stolen embraces. How could I propose? How could I have married you? How could we have brought forth heirs?”

“Yet still you pledged your devotion to me.” Loki smiled. “Odin Allfather never did question why your vambraces were cast with my insignia, just as he never questioned why your lovelock always held one black strand . . . perhaps he thought it belonged to Sif.”

“It would explain a lot,” admitted Thor.

“I can see why you would seek to view this as a blessing, as it would allow us to attend ceremonies together and be seen in public together and even leave parties together, and no one would dare question me for entering your rooms . . . no more using my illusions as a disguise, no more sneaking out before dawn . . . it would make this much easier.”

Thor hummed a noncommittal response. They both remained silent. Thor thought back to how Loki would run out of his rooms each morning, or the times he would awake to the shower running and muttered curses, and – one time – Odin walking inside to catch Loki asleep in his bed and both _thankfully_ being clad in nightwear. It was always luck alone that prevented their incestuous union from coming to light. It was foolishness that kept Loki returning to his bed night after night, even as they strove to hold back screams.

Loki sighed beside him, as a servant came to direct them into place . . . _a few steps right for Thor, one step forward for Loki . . . ‘yes, perfect equal footing’_. . . Thor let out a shuddered breath and looked to Loki with watery eyes, as Loki looked back with deathly pale cheeks. It would only be a matter of minutes before they recited their vows, received the blessing of the Allfather, and walked the flame with hands entwined. Thor gave a broken smile.

“You seem displeased,” choked Thor.

“You _cheated_ on me, Thor.” Loki winced. “I never complained, although I suppose you always were a hopeless romantic . . . how many women did you take? Five? Six? I just . . . I cannot see why you had to _fuck_ a mortal woman! Yes, that is why I sent the Destroyer after you. Exile was enough for my plans, but . . . you cheated on me, _betrayed_ me.”

“I never cheated on you, Loki! Yes, I always made it clearer we could never be more than a hidden affair, but _you_ were the one who called off our affair time and time again, and I was not prepared to live my life waiting for you to change your mind. I was single. I decided to engage in relationships and search for one that may be able to commit to me, and every time you changed your mind . . . I came back. Do not make me seem an adulterer.”

“I _always_ remained chaste to you, Thor.”

“I never asked that of you, though.” Thor pinched the bridge of his nose. “You were the one to tell me time and time again that we were through, no matter how much I begged, and I expected you to find other loves or focus entirely on your studies, but I never asked or demanded that you remain chaste. If you had asked me not to sleep with any other, I would not have slept with any other, but do not begrudge me for what is only natural.”

“You are mistaken. I remember _you_ were the one to break up with me.”

“Just as you remember me _throwing_ you from the Bifrost?”

Thor scowled with a curl of his lip. He fought back the urge to spin around, lest he lose his footing and not be on perfect display for the opening of the doors, but – with a long sigh – the nervousness mixed with frustration. Adrenaline coursed through him, while his mouth ran dry and his hands trembled by his sides. Mjölnir rested at his feet. He nudged the hammer with his toe, desperate to seek its reassuring presence, and furrowed his brow with another sigh.

“We will be married today,” said Thor.

He closed his eyes. He drew in a deep breath. The world fell silent around them, as servants disappeared behind the large banners and the music faded into a soft melody, one designed to help keep time as a couple marched side-by-side down an aisle. Thor tried to still he racing heart, as his body grew light and his head swam with a dizziness akin to sickness, and he looked to Loki and saw that same fear . . . _the same fear mixed with the terror of being wed to one that might take other lovers_. . . Thor’s stomach sank like iron. He swore in a whisper:

“I swear to never be unfaithful to you, Loki.”

“Thor, this is no foundation for –”

“Even if you wish to annul,” continued Thor. “Even if we are to never be physically intimate. Even if you one day wish to divorce. I am making a vow to you today, Loki, which is to be by your side as a husband and an equal, and I will never enter a sexual or romantic relationship with another. Do not doubt my love and devotion, even if you doubt all else.”

Loki smiled despite his evident displeasure. It brought a few lines to the corner of his lips, while he lowered his head and let the fire beyond cast shadows about his face, and – as he made a strange sound between acknowledgement and mockery – he looked up with watery eyes and a slight tremble of his lip. Thor cast his eyes away out of respect; Loki loathed emotional vulnerability, as such it was a kindness to him to give him the illusion of privacy.

“Are we about to kiss?” Loki teased. “I feel like we’re about to kiss.”

Thor laughed and gently shoved Loki, where – as he nearly lost balance – a servant let out an involuntary cry and another chastised them for potentially losing their spots, and Loki could only laugh back and raise a hand in mock warning to Thor. They laughed until the music grew louder. Two guards marched past them and positioned themselves at the doors, where they turned and stood to attention, while servants tried to remain hidden behind the banners while seeking a better look. Thor leaned into Loki and whispered:

“I expect nothing from you, Loki.”

Loki winced and pursed at his lips. The time for conversation was over, as anyone would hear any word spoken above a whisper, and yet Loki raked his eyes over Thor, as if caught between affection and hatred . . . he searched for something beyond Thor’s grasp. Thor half-closed his eyes and slumped his shoulders, until Loki leaned in as close as he could possibly reach, with mouth angled just a few inches from Thor’s ear, where he whispered:

“I would like to continue our intimacy one day.”

“I was not expecting that reply.”

“One day, Thor,” continued Loki. “Not today. I have much to discuss with the healers, and – yes – I still feel abandoned and unwanted, but my feelings for you are still strong. If you were expecting a consummation tonight, you will be _vastly_ disappointed, but maybe some months or years from now . . . I would not mind making _you_ the ergi.”

Loki pulled away. The smirk on his lips was dangerous and dark, with his eyes catching the shadows that the green turned almost black, and Thor swallowed back an involuntary spark of arousal, as he laughed and blinked back tears. The doors before them finally swung open. Thor caught sight of the vast empty hall, with the aisle that would take a good five minutes to reach the end, where a roaring fire stood high on a large platform. Odin stood before it with hands on a book, kept in place on a small pillar. Thor stole one last glance to Loki.

“I shall hold you to that,” teased Thor.

* * *

_‘This is the cloth that shall unite you.’_

_Thor gripped tighter onto Loki’s hand. The white fabric was soft on their skin, but the knots on their wrists were tight and grew heavier by the second, and – as his heart raced, a cold sweat breaking over his flesh – he knew that what he experienced was the heavy weight of an impending responsibility to a new husband. Loki’s fingers trembled. The palm was clammy and uncomfortably warm. Loki squeezed his hand until bruises began to form._

_The fire before them raged ever higher. Odin stood before the flames with one hand on the holy book of their ancestors, while another was clasped around Gungnir, and he stood in regal attire that marked him as every bit a king. He would not meet Loki’s gaze, while Loki would only tense and stiffen each time his eyes fell on Odin. It was not the celebration Thor desired. Odin spoke with a cold and slow voice, as if fighting back either tears or rage on every word, while the sound of flickering flames and crackling wood echoed in the air._

_‘The white represents the pureness of your love,’ said Odin. ‘The knots represent the unbreakable bonds between you. It is the penultimate part of this ceremony. You must now take seven steps around the flame . . . your first steps as spouses in a new life.’_

_Thor swallowed hard. Frigga stood beside Sif to his far left, as witnesses for the legitimacy of his claim toward Loki, while Fandral and Volstagg stood to Loki’s right, as witnesses for the legitimacy of his claim toward Thor. No others stood in the grand hall, which made the loneliness of the ceremony all the grander. Every word echoed about the hall. Thor licked at his lips and looked at the small walk around the raging fire, while the heat from the flames added to his sweat, and he grew light-headed even as he glanced to Loki._

_Loki winced and pulled at his hand with a nod._

_They took their first steps._

* * *

“I suppose congratulations are in order.”

Sif stood beside him with a forced smile. The beautiful silver gown clung to her frame, while her long locks of hair caught the light with a soft glow, and he cast his eyes up and down in aesthetic appreciation. It was clear she put great effort into her appearance, as if she were truly celebrating a grand occasion with her greatest friend, and yet – as Thor roared in the distance with drunken amusement – it was by Loki she stood and Loki she greeted.

He nodded in acknowledgement of her, while the party raged ever onward. The buffet table was laden with the richest and rarest of foods, as Volstagg stood at the far end and waved over his companions, and the scent of wine and ale was heavy in the air, even as Frigga sipped at a glass with a graceful smile by the decorative pillars. Odin stood alone on the balcony, hands pressed to the marble railing, even as several advisers fought for his attentions, and the music picked up speed as couples danced on the main floor. Loki asked with a sigh:

“Are you afraid I will corrupt your prince?”

Sif narrowed her gaze and crossed her arms. He let out a small scoff and let his eyes move back to Thor, where Hogun clapped a hand on his back and Fandral leaned in to whisper comments that had Thor flushed red with a nervous laugh, and Loki tensed when eyes turned to him and Volstagg shook his head with disapproval at whatever was uttered from Fandral’s immature lips. A few snippets of conversation echoed from the people that flocked around him. . . _‘I wonder when they shall share a dance’, ‘an incestuous union doomed to failure’, ‘even marriages of convenience can yield forth love’_. . . Loki rubbed at his temples.

“Do not worry,” said Loki. “I am still under house arrest.”

“Loki, I do not trust you, but that does not mean I do not respect you.” Sif drew in a deep hiss of breath. “Do you blame me for being distrustful? Thor is my friend, yet you sought to _slaughter_ him on Midgard out of a desire for the throne. Betray him and I will kill you.”

“It’s lovely to see you, too,” muttered Loki.

“I mean it, Loki. I have great sympathy for your plight . . . I cannot imagine what it must be like to be forced to wed in order to secure residency on Asgard, but I also cannot ignore that you were willing to murder an entire race or that you were willing to murder your brother. I hope that you can heal and grow and evolve, but I fear who you are now.”

There was softness to her expression. It spoke of conflict; her narrowed eyes revealed the depths of her disgust, but her pursed lips revealed a desire to see him redeem himself, and – through it all – she sought to protect her prince. Loki sighed. He reached out to snatch a glass of wine from a tray that was whisked past him, without the servant even noticing her lighter load, and sipped at the red liquid with only a mild interest. Sif moved closer to him, so that her bare arm touched on his leather sleeve, while the world danced around them.

“If it helps,” said Loki, “I am just as conflicted as you.”

“How is that?” Sif asked.

“I cannot trust Thor, but nor can I hate him.” Loki bit his lips with a frown. “I know he feels the same way, caught between that fear you so described and a love beyond description, and that is no foundation for a marriage. I do not wish for him to be miserable, at least I do not wish for him to be any _more_ miserable, but can what can a marriage like this bring?”

“If that worries you, you could both take lovers,” suggested Sif. “It is not ideal, but I cannot see people taking offence should you use discretion. Our queen believes that you will fall in love over time, which is also an option, but do not doom Thor to misery so prematurely.”

“Especially when he looks so happy,” muttered Loki.

He glanced back to Thor. Thor leaned back against a pillar, barely able to stand and certainly unable to focus his gaze, and Fandral stood to his side with arms gesticulating wildly, each gesture bringing forth further laughter from Thor. Volstagg ate with great gusto, while Hogun kept mostly to the shadows and appeared to remain silent. It took only a few seconds for Hogun to meet his gaze and nudge Thor hard in his side. Thor took note.

A loud cheer echoed about the hall. Thor threw a hand high in the air. Ale spilled over the sides of his mug, as he swayed and whooped ever louder, and – as Odin turned in Loki’s peripheral vision with a dark glare – Thor waved Loki closer with his hand, spilling ale until Hogun was forced to snatch the mug from his hand. Loki looked to Sif and nodded over to their companions, before turning on heels to make his way through the crowds, moving with great expertise to avoid touching those many guests or being caught in small talk.

They soon reached Thor, who lurched forward and threw his arms around Loki’s shoulders, and – as he hunched over – Loki struggled to support all of Thor’s weight, even as those around them chuckled and strove to keep some distance. It took a scoff from Sif to encourage Fandral to disentangle them and pull Thor up into a relatively stable stance, even as Thor slapped a hand on Loki’s shoulder and shouted out in an all-too-loud voice:

“Loki, come drink with us!”

“Really?” Sif chided. “This is how you would celebrate?”

“Why not?” Volstagg chirped. “It’s a joyous day! I just wish there was time for a grand celebration . . . ah, you wouldn’t remember the Allfather’s wedding, but my father claimed it was a celebration to end all celebrations! How often can we say our best friend is _married_?”

“To his brother,” muttered Fandral.

“ _Former_ brother,” spat Loki.

“Let us not bring down the mood with semantics,” said Thor. “I will only be married once, as such I wish to drink the night away and laugh until my throat grows sore, and anyone that has a bad word to say about this union -?” Thor raised a finger and quirked an eyebrow. “Well, I say that the next round shall be on them! That is a forewarning to all.”

Thor bellowed out a great deal of laughter. Loki caught a hint of sadness to his eyes, as if he drank to drown his sorrows and hide his concern, but he was right . . . it was possible this would be their only wedding night. The feathered helmet was long gone, while several pieces of armour were absent from Thor’s ensemble, and the smile would occasionally vanish, as deep lines etched themselves across his face. He looked aged beyond his years.

Loki opened his mouth to question Thor, only for Fandral to throw an arm around him. He placed a hand on Loki’s shoulder and squeezed, as if the familiarity were warranted or no animosity had passed between them, and Loki tensed until his muscles grew solid beneath those long fingers. Loki let out a long hiss of breath, especially when Fandral clapped a hand to his chest and patted as if they were close enough friends to warrant such intimacy, and Thor merely watched with a raised eyebrow and dangerous smirk. _Jealousy_. Fandral asked:

“So how does it feel to be married?”

“I do not know,” said Loki. “How does it feel to be attached to your arm?”

Fandral pulled away with hands raised in mock surrender. Sif chuckled and Thor laughed, but there was only a faint blush to Fandral’s cheeks as he pouted and folded his arms, and – apparently realising the break in etiquette – he continued to sulk even as Volstagg came around to lean an arm on his shoulder. It was clear physical touches were symptomatic of being a part of their drunken club, but Loki half-hoped they had outgrown such habits.

“We were about to go into town,” said Hogun.

“I know a _delightful_ little tavern,” chirped Fandral. “There are a few – ah – _looser_ barmaids that are always willing to do what others are not, especially if you have a few extra coins, and they have the most delicious mead that ruins all other meads for you! Perfection.”

“And for those of us not after physical affairs?” Sif asked.

“And for those of us married?” Volstagg asked.

“Well, perhaps I am _exaggerating_ the women, but they are very receptive to flirtations and I did encounter a woman of the night on one occasion, although I _also_ admit that it’s a rather seedy joint and thus the best place to hold one’s stag night! It’s not as though we could throw Thor a wild send-off with one night’s notice, is it? Let’s make the most of it.”

“Loki is on house arrest,” slurred Thor. “It would not be fair to go without him. Let us get drunk here just for tonight, that way Loki has a choice to join us! In any case, it is my wedding night . . . even if there is no consummation, I must sleep in my own bed.”

“We can always rearrange for tomorrow,” said Volstagg.

Thor made to speak, but stumbled forward with swinging steps. He reached out onto the banquet table for balance, before snatching up a mug of mead, and – with great gulping swigs – finished the mug almost in on go, before throwing it to the ground and yelling out ‘another’, only for a servant to rush forward with a new mug. Sif threw up a hand and signalled them to keep their distance, while Loki massaged the bridge of his nose, and Thor staggered to his feet and threw his hands out as if to keep everyone at bay, while he murmured out:

“Tomorrow I must speak with Heimdall.”

Loki scoffed and watched as Thor struggled to stand straight. He bit hard into his lip, until he tasted the faint traces of iron, and – as he slammed his wine glass onto the table – Thor tried to follow the movement with his eyes and nearly lost balance. Volstagg dove forward to throw arms around him, where he barely managed to keep Thor in place. Those blue eyes swam in and out of focus, while Thor rapidly blinked and his head swayed. Loki asked:

“ _Why_ must you speak with Heimdall?”

“I need to know when the Bifrost will be fixed,” said Thor. “I know where my loyalties lie, Loki, but I left Jane with the expectation I would be back in a matter of days. I owe it to her to say goodbye in a respectful manner. I cannot imagine she will pine indefinitely for me, but closure has never harmed anyone. It is the right thing to do.”

“You would think of an old flame with your husband present?”

“What will my husband do to make me forget?”

Thor raised his arm and flexed his bicep. He attempted a wink that ended up more of a squint, while Hogun snorted through his mead and choked through laughter, and Sif – with a loud hiss of breath – simply looked to Loki with an apologetic expression. Loki tried to control his racing heart, as he kept his head high and whispered to a passing servant to cut off all further alcohol, and instead turned with feigned smiles to greet his future. Sif folded her arms across her chest and maintained her place at Loki’s side, as he ordered:

“Go join your friends in the tavern.”

“No,” murmured Thor. “I think I ought to return to our rooms.”

“ _Our_ rooms?”

“Mother moved your possessions,” admitted Thor. “You may rearrange them however you like, but we shall only have one wedding night . . . I shall not ruin the memory for you by being absent. Let me drink with you. We could sit upon the balcony, perhaps talk about what to expect in upcoming years . . . I could read you poetry or run you a bath –”

“You really _are_ drunk,” laughed Fandral.

“He is,” said Loki. “It is better he stays in our rooms, however. He will only start a fight should he drink more, which will draw the Allfather’s attention and risk punishment on us all, and – in the worst case – he will wake with a hangover in a terrible mood. Do not let me endure his temper tantrums when I already must endure house arrest.”

“I suppose we could throw Thor a party another day.” Fandral sighed and muttered: “Very well, you take Thor for the evening. I suppose the Allfather has his eye on you, so I doubt we have to worry _too_ much about you attempting to murder Thor while he sleeps.”

“You will be invited, too,” chirped Volstagg. “I promise you, Loki.”

“No, I shall not wish to spoil your fun,” lied Loki.

Loki walked forward and took Thor from Volstagg. Thor clung close, burying a bearded mouth against his neck and muttered incoherent ramblings, and – as the nonsensical words echoed about Loki’s ears – he helped ease Thor towards the main doors. Sif called out a final ‘congratulations’, while Hogun chided Fandral on being rude, and the music continued to play as the guests danced on and on. Loki listened to the life around them.

It was possible Frigga would notice his absence, but it would be Thor that they missed. The loud cheers and cries would soon be silence, as Thor collapsed in ‘their’ rooms and fell asleep with loud drunken snores, and perhaps Odin would stop by to knock on the door, while Fandral would call out in passing some immature anecdote. Loki would be forgotten. The invitations would soon stop once they realised he could not leave the palace, and already there were the sounds of clinking glasses and loud gossip far behind him.

The laughter continued without him.


	6. Chapter 6

Loki stood beside the window.

A cool breeze blew in through the open panes; it caught at his hair and brushed against his skin, providing a small relief on an otherwise hot day, and – as he leaned against the wall – he cast his eyes down to the gardens beneath. There was a rich scent from the flowers in bloom, while the mulled wine on the windowsill let out a pleasant aroma. Loki drew in a deep breath and allowed a weak smile to play over his lips. It was almost peaceful.

Thor sparred on the grass below. The crash of metal on metal filled the air, while Sif panted and gasped for breath. Loki heard the creak of leather garments and the occasional high-pitched scratch of a sword on armour. Sif called out a few words, and Thor – ever naive – lowered his sword just enough to give her an edge. _A blow here. A strike there._ Sif knocked him flat onto his back and jammed the point of her sword against his chest. _He lost_. Loki chuckled, but the sound caught Thor’s attention and their eyes met. Thor waved.

Loki spun around and flushed red, while he listened to Thor laugh once more, and there followed a series of sounds like metal on metal, while they sparred once more with sharper weapons and greater risks. The world spun on without him. He swallowed back a lump in his throat with a sigh, and shook his head with a scoff of frustration. Loki was ready to leave the library, but there followed a noise . . . _a crack of a shelf, a rustle of paper, a soft laugh_. . . a servant would strive to be silent, but an intruder would make themselves known. Loki called:

“Who is there?”

 _Laughter_.

Loki stood to attention and flicked out his hands. The familiar cool leather strips appeared in his hands, as he wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his daggers, and the metal glittered as the sunlight caught the sharp edges and reflected from the blade. He struggled to still his racing heart, while adrenaline rushed through his every vein. Loki slowly stepped forward, turning his head from left to right in search of one who may do him harm.

A regal figure stepped out from behind a row of shelves. Loki paled and lifted his head high, as he sought to assess the situation. The man was a Jotun . . . he wore thick furs and large leather straps, while the gold and silver accessories were a luxury many of their kind could ill afford . . . Loki noted that he wore a head of thick black hair, which fell down to his waist, and was not typical of their race. Those eyes were also a rich green. Loki scoffed and shook his head, as the Jotun leaned against one of the shelves with arms folded.

“Let me guess,” spat Loki. “You must be Helblindi.”

Loki marched forward, with long leather coat billowing out behind him. He threw one dagger outward, aimed at the toned chest of one that was far from a warrior, and stopped only when the tip pierced a small hole in the leather strap that held in place a fur cape. Helblindi quirked an eyebrow and looked at the dagger. Loki pressed harder, until a bead of blood was drawn, but Helblindi showed no sign of pain or discomfort. Loki pressed again and demanded:

“How did you get here, Jotun?”

Helblindi rolled his eyes and reached for the blade. He took it between thumb and forefinger, before pulling it away from his now bleeding chest, and – with a condescending pat to Loki’s cheek – smirked and walked toward the window. Helblindi kept to the side in the shadows, so Thor would not see him on a glance, but he watched . . . eyes followed Thor’s every move, lips smiled whenever Sif gained the upper hand . . . Loki let out a snarl of anger and darted back to the window with knuckles white with the pressure on his blades.

“Loki,” said Helblindi. “You aren’t the only one with secret knowledge.”

“You know of my pathways?”

“Oh, they aren’t _your_ pathways, Brother,” chirped Helblindi. “Did you know that Frigga and Fárbauti were childhood friends? The Allmother taught secrets to them, they then taught us, and – I must say – I’m rather glad for those skills. How else could we have this heart-to-heart? The Bifrost is closed. You are under house-arrest. It’s all _so_ inconvenient.”

“You would claim our mothers to be friends?” Loki rolled his eyes. “ _Your_ mother was a traitor to the crown! Fárbauti abandoned her duties to her brother and her people, only to spread her legs to a dictator and a barbarian. Why would my mother befriend such a woman?”

“Frigga saw good in you, Loki, and you are the _son_ of such a barbarian dictator. I fear for what Odin Borson must have taught you over these years . . . we have such history and culture, including being the originators of the technology behind the Bifrost . . . our mother was a kind woman who told me stories of her childhood with Odin, how they would steal apples from the kitchen or play pranks on one another, and she spoke with such love.

“I know you think us incapable of love, but you don’t know what I know, Loki. The loss of you turned our father bitter and cold, so afraid of losing us in turn that he would never allow us a moment without supervision, and how he would even cry when he thought none other would hear the sobs! A man I know just committed suicide, for he lost his son in your attack.”

“If you expect me to feel guilt, I do not,” lied Loki.

“Then perhaps I am not the monster after all.”

Rage coursed through Loki. He struggled to hear anything past the beating of his heart, while his eyes narrowed until a severe ache penetrated his temples, and – with panted breath – he rammed the point of his blade into the wall beside the window. The plaster cracked and crumbled. Loki still panted for breath when Sif looked up and called forth his name in concern, but Loki feigned a smile and waved a hand to dismiss her. Thor called out to him in turn, even as Loki slammed the windows shut and spat out to Helblindi:

“How did you make it past the guards?”

Helblindi smirked and jerked his head to a table. Loki glanced once more to Thor, where he smiled as a sincere as he could muster and waved once more to him, before snatching his dagger from the wall and conjuring the pair out of sight. He marched to the table and threw himself into a chair, before he steeped his fingers before him and watched as Helblindi stood opposite, with hands gripping the back of a chair. Helblindi hummed and whispered:

“I dropped the spell that keeps this form.”

“You can cast illusions?”

“I can _drop_ illusions, and that much I will say. Do not get _too_ excited, however, as the Allfather used an ancient blood magic to bind your form, so yours is no mere illusion, but when our mother died . . . Father’s grasp of magic was far less than that of theirs, thus I was forced to maintain an illusion instead. I can show you my true form if you wish.”

“Your true form is that of an Asgardian?” Loki scoffed. “If that is true, why stay in Jotunheim? You could easily live among our people. We have a great need for diplomats and ambassadors and advisers. We could use a man of your skill. Join us.”

“As an Asgardian, I am a man? As a Jotun, I am a monster?”

“It is a wondrous offer that I generously provide.”

Helblindi shook his head with a smile. A wave of his hand removed the illusion; Loki noted first the skin so pale and white that it clearly belonged to no one of full Jotun blood, while his high cheekbones and strong jaw were no longer hidden with facial markings, and the whites of those green eyes no longer glowed red. Helblindi drummed his fingers on the back of the chair, before he pushed back a lock of black hair behind his ear. Loki licked at his lips and rapidly blinked, as his rage dissipated and an eerie calmness befell him.

“You look just like me,” whispered Loki.

“I am the eldest, Loki.” Helblindi replied. “ _You_ look like me.”

A few lines about his eyes betrayed the few centuries on Loki, but Helblindi said nothing more and slipped into the chair opposite, while he kept his head low and poked around at the collection of books and paperwork and scrolls scattered around the table. He looked every bit an Asgardian, just as how Loki looked every bit a Jotun in his true form. Helblindi hummed a strange tune, while he pulled a book towards him and flicked lazily through the pages.

“This looks interesting,” teased Helblindi. “May I borrow it?”

Loki snatched back the book. He slammed it closed, as he pulled it toward him, and noted – with a curl of his lips – that it was the same childish story of forbidden love recommended by Frigga, of two people seeking to overcome all odds. Loki let his fingers linger on the leather cover, as he noted the scuffs and marks over decades of being reread time and time again, before he pulled back his hand and collapsed back into the chair. The library was all too quiet without the open window. He nearly jumped when Helblindi asked in a loud voice:

“Why do you watch Thor from a distance?”

“Why should I tell you that?”

“I worry for you, as your brother.” Helblindi winced. “Do you often exclude yourself? I imagine the Allfather would have you wed a mere matter of hours after our meeting, as it would have secured your place in his mock family, and – as such – I would have expected you to be busy creating an heir so few weeks after being a newlywed. Instead, you stand alone and watch in isolation those you so love. It is a very lonely existence.”

“I _chose_ to remain in the library,” spat Loki. “They offered to train in the main halls. Thor even suggested training on the veranda, as it’s technically ‘indoors’ and a ‘part’ of the palace, but it would allow me fresh air. I simply did not wish to inconvenience those that only asked for my presence out of a sense of obligation, and I also have much work to be done.”

“You believe your friends are your friends out of obligation?”

“I believe that the healers have chastised me enough about my supposed low self-esteem, so I _really_ do not wish to hear further lectures from a man who shares my blood and nothing further. I also cannot imagine you would risk breaking every peace treaty and contract, if caught in Asgard, just to offer me emotional support. Why are you here?”

“I was curious whether you were with child yet, I shall admit.”

Loki widened his eyes. He jerked his head backward, as a deep blush swept over his cheeks, and he opened his mouth and closed it in rapid succession, before he snarled and crossed his arms across his chest. The anger was white-hot, building and building until every muscle ached and his breathing became shallow. Loki soon closed his eyes. He took the opportunity to draw in a deep breath and centre himself, before he opened his eyes to ask:

“Thor and I have yet to consummate.”

Helblindi raised an eyebrow, before he furrowed his brow. The expression was curious, as if he bore any right to judge Loki for such a personal choice, and yet – with a loud sigh – he stood and moved back to the bookcases. He walked past the political treaties and philosophical dialogues, only to stop immediately before the romance section and pick at the novels with a warm smile, and it reminded Loki too much of Frigga. Helblindi picked a book from the shelf and called over in a somewhat perplexed voice:

“You only have two years to provide the first heir.”

“The _first_ heir?” Loki curled his lip. “Thor and I have at least several thousand years to provide an heir between us, while Thor can continue to produce seed until his death, and – regardless of whether _I_ provide him an heir or not – he only needs _one_ child.”

“Ah, I feared this would happen,” muttered Helblindi.

“You feared _what_ would happen?”

“I will be frank, Loki,” said Helblindi. “I know you have a way with words, but I see rhetoric and semantics as the last resort of the desperate, as such . . . I will just ‘spit it out’. The Allfather came to me in hopes of avoiding war, and – as a politician – I took advantage of this to secure the safety and future of my people. He offered the Casket of Ancient Winters as recompense for your attempted genocide of our people, which I accepted.

“I included the _murder_ of our father in such a pact. You committed an act of regicide and patricide, which served as a prelude to the mass murder of our innocents, and thus I have officially proclaimed him the first victim of that terrible day. There was another issue, however, which is that no one paid recompense for the day you were kidnapped.”

“Rescued,” spat Loki. “The day I was _rescued_.”

“Whatever word you wish to ascribe to that event, I am more than happy to use the lack of recompense as a means to further my political agenda. I need an heir to secure my place upon the throne of Jotunheim, especially as a lack of an heir could lead to civil war on my eventual death, and the _last_ thing we need is for further war when we will be spending centuries – perhaps millennia – rebuilding what was lost. No, a lack of an heir will not do.”

Loki slowly stood to his feet. He placed trembling fingers against the table, while his mouth ran dry and a cold sweat broke over his skin. Helblindi appeared oblivious to the sudden change in Loki, as he flicked through the pages of his book with occasional smiles. Loki paled. He choked on the air and blinked away tears. He struggled to breath. A few seconds passed, until Loki could bear it no longer. He stormed around the table to Helblindi and struck the book out from his hands. It crashed against the floor and fell half-open.

“What did the Allfather promise you?”

Helblindi sighed and raised a finger in the air. Loki made to slap his hand away, but stopped when a loud knock sounded on the library door. A voice called out to check on him, asking whether the visiting noble was proving a nuisance, and – as Helblindi stifled his laughter behind a closed hand – Loki rolled his eyes and called back that all was well. Footsteps drifted away, as Loki ran a hand over his face and listened as Helblindi chirped:

“Your firstborn will be my nephew.”

“And your heir.”

“Yes, Loki. They will also be my heir.” Helblindi shrugged with a smile. “Odin agreed under the condition that we will not seek war or further recompense over your kidnap, but we _will_ require that heir to be provided within the next few years, preferably by the Bifrost’s completion. I’d say I’m surprised he didn’t tell you, but . . . we all keep some secrets.

“I will require one month a year with the boy. I wish for him to grow up knowing Jotun customs and traditions, but otherwise he is entirely yours and I will not dare to break such a bond, and on my death they shall become king of Jotunheim. To add a further incentive, I will be willing to fully pardon you once you give me an heir. You will no longer be under house-arrest, as you will have been pardoned for your crimes against us.”

Loki stumbled back and swayed on his feet. He walked backward until he reached the table; long fingers caught the edge of the wood, where the cool surface provided a momentary comfort, and – with long and slow breaths – he turned inward on himself. A few rocks were thrown against the library window . . . Sif or Thor sought his attention . . . he ran a hand over his face and let his eyes well with tears, as Helblindi kept to the shadows and used his appearance to fall those below . . . _‘I’m busy now, but I’ll be down later’._ Loki whimpered:

“Is this why the Allfather avoided me?”

“Hmm?” Helblindi called back. “I wouldn’t know about that, I’m afraid.”

“It is as if he is afraid to speak to me,” whispered Loki. “I have avoided him in turn, as I had no desire to speak to the man I once called a father . . . not after he disowned me . . . now I realise it isn’t disgust in his eyes when he looks at me, but shame. He is _ashamed_. How could have sold my unborn child without my consent? How could he have not _told_ me about this?”

“He loves you. He made the deal to secure your freedom, as he knew you would loathe living on Jotunheim and would like the idea of outright war even less, and as for why he lied -? We all have lies, Loki, even from those we love . . . sometimes the truth hurts more.”

“What would you know about love?”

“I know it is why I cannot conceive,” confessed Helblindi. “You care so little about our race that you have yet to even ask _why_ I require an heir from you, but soon Thor shall know of this deal and he shall have both objections and questions. He will ask why I cannot conceive. You will explain to him that I am in love with one I cannot claim, a forbidden romance doomed to failure before it even begun, and I will not break laws just to provide a child, nor will I risk any . . . genetic abnormalities.”

Helblindi walked away from the window. He slowly came across the library to Loki’s side, where he reached with soft hands to cup his face and lean close, and – for a brief second – Loki could almost be comforted by the touch of a brother. Helblindi placed a chaste kiss to his forehead. The hands and lips were not cold, but warm and soft, and there was a scent of incense in his hair that must have been inherited from Fárbauti, so Asgardian in scent. Loki blinked back tears, as he choked on the air and struggled for breath.

The touch remained in place, until Helblindi pulled away with a sigh. Loki saw the coldness to his face, even if his flesh remained warm, and he saw in Helblindi the Machiavellian nature of Odin and the eternal patience of Laufey. Helblindi stood directly beside Loki, but – where Loki face away from the table – he faced toward the table and its contents. A stray finger pulled at the documents and contracts, prodding with a curious eye as he asked:

“You know about forbidden love, yes?”

Loki sighed and slid into his chair. The leather on the arms was cool against his skin, while the high back allowed him to lean backward and throw back his head, and – with a trembling hand – he touched his stomach and let his fingers trace circles. Helblindi continued to look through the paperwork and literature, where he would occasionally linger on some frayed piece of parchment or stained sheet of paper, before he would lower his head with a roll of his eyes and move onto a new item with a renewed interest. Loki said in a whisper:

“You know Thor and I were –”

“Romantically entangled?” Helblindi smiled. “I am told the hardest secrets to tell are those hidden in plain sight, but – honestly – I always found that a little . . . hmm . . . nonsensical to say the least. Shall I tell you a custom of ours? We believe blood to be the strongest tie, as such – when we ‘marry’ – we cut our palms and merge our wounds. The scar is permanent. It means we can never ‘remarry’ and never annul or divorce. Two men forever bound.

“The scar on my hand is a promise of such a bond. I made no official record of the bond, just as I did not allow for the four witnesses to make it official, and neither did I allow for documents to be signed that would _also_ make it official. It means I can never marry anyone else, but to come forward with my spouse and _make_ it official would be to . . . out me.”

“Who did you marry? A commoner? An Asgardian?”

“My point is that any child borne from me would be my heir, but I would not cheat on my spouse or ever willingly lie with another.” Helblindi waved a hand with a sigh. “I suppose I am a hopeless romantic at heart, even as my love has chosen to live with another and publicly go forward as a couple, despite that they will never be able to wed. In any case, I would advise you not to fall too deep for Thor. It will only lead to heartbreak.”

Loki bit his lip and winced. He held back the underlying question . . . _why not bear forth an heir and simply keep the identity of the spouse hidden_? There was clearer something deeper at play, but Loki could only think back to his affairs with Thor . . . _stolen embraces, whispered nothings, rushed excuses_. . . he looked to Helblindi and saw the same despair, mixed with the same frustration and same denial, and Loki could only look away. Helblindi finally tore himself away from the paperwork, before he returned to poking at the shelved books.

“Our union is legitimate,” said Loki.

“Will Odin see it that way?” Helblindi kept his head low. “He will not resent his two perceived sons for an incestuous union? Will Thor taking precedence as prince . . . _as future king_ . . . not lead you to resent him when his commands take precedence over yours? He will have to make difficult decisions, some of which you will despise, but that will be life.”

“Why do you want an heir from me?” Loki spat. “Býleistr –”

“Oh, I’m sure – if you asked Býleistr – he would claim sterility a major factor. In a strange way, I would rather have him sire a child or bear a child . . . a three-quarters Jotun has far more claim than one-quarter Jotun, but that is why I plan to arrange a marriage between your unborn child and a Jotun of great political standing, to make our bloodline pure once more and get over this little snap. At least, I can arrange a variety of suitors for them to choose.”

“What do you stand to gain from this, Jotun?”

“Hmm, a few things, Brother.”

Loki pushed back his chair. There came a clatter of stones at the window once more, but this time it was Sif’s voice that called for him to open the windows, and – as he caught the threat of sending a guard to check on him – he knew time was limited. He looked to Helblindi, but he kept his head so low that the long locks of hair curtained his face from sight, and left him entirely in shadow as he feigned interest in a book lower down. Loki stepped closer, conjuring daggers in hand just to play safe. Helblindi said in a quiet voice:

“I would use the threat of war to avoid war.”

“Is that right?” Loki spat.

“Oh, I could care less about war with Asgard,” muttered Helblindi. “I imagine if _you_ had the chance to whisk Odin away to some other realm, leave him there with a spell to muddle his mind, and ‘legitimately’ take over the title of king -? You would. You would stop short of murder, as would I, but you would do all it took to gain that crown . . . for me, I simply had to convince our father to trust you and enter Asgard where you took care of the rest.

“Now I have the crown, I shall bear the weight of my responsibilities and duties. If I were to war with Asgard, I would gain nothing and risk everything, but _Odin_ does not know this and _he_ would not risk war or losing you, as his fear for such risks is far greater than mine, thus he lost _that_ little game of political chicken. I used that to my advantage.

“My people need a power source,” continued Helblindi. “My people need greater transport links to other realms and a better sense of infrastructure, and we need to make improvements in other areas such as farming and hunting and trade, if we are to remain self-sufficient _and_ make grand improvements. If the realm descends into political chaos when I die, as everyone seeks for a claim to a throne, it will throw us back into the dark ages! No, I need an heir.”

“So you used the Allfather’s fear of war to attain that heir.”

“You have an incentive, Loki. You will have full pardon and thus the freedom to annul from Thor, and – from there – you can live however you so please! You wish to stay married? You may stay married. You wish to break apart? You may break apart. My pardoning of you will allow you to break away from house-arrest and regain your freedom, so do not be so dismissive of a great offer given forth to you. Give me an heir, Loki.”

The promise lingered in the air between them. Loki stood and wandered over to the window, widening the distance between them, and – as he raised a shaking hand to signal all was well to Sif and Thor – a painful lump formed in his throat. It caught with bile and acid, burning as he swallowed it all back, and tears threatened to fall as he clenched his hands into tight fists, watching as Thor squatted to catch his breath and Sif cast worried glances towards Loki. He feigned a smile and quickly turned away, as he panted for breath and licked at his lips.

“Why tell me all of this?” Loki asked. “Why show your hand?”

“If you tell Thor, he will press for an heir even quicker to gain your freedom,” said Helblindi. “If you tell the Allfather, he will ignore your tales due to his fear of war . . . he will not take that risk. If you tell anyone else, they will assume you to be a liar looking to get Odin to break his word to me, simply to sate your own selfish desires. That is the gist.”

“That is it? You are willing to manipulate everyone simply to improve a desolate wasteland already beyond improvement? I find it an insult you expect me to believe you! You would honestly give me full pardon for popping out some snot-nosed blue brat?”

“Yes. I even put that in writing to the Allfather.”

Helblindi reached inside his furs. He pulled out a sheaf of paper and dropped it onto the table, and – even from his distance – Loki saw the large scrawl of Odin’s signature and the dried wax from his insignia, so that the document was clearly a legitimate copy of an original. Helblindi walked towards the library doors still in his Asgardian form, where he would roam without more than a few curious glances at his strange attire, before he would disappear back to his realm and form the illusion of Jotun skin. No one would ever know. Helblindi said:

“Give me an heir, Loki.”

The doors opened and closed. Helblindi was gone. The library returned to a silent and empty space, where the only sounds were that of his heavy breaths and racing pulse, and – as the tears to fell at last – he heard familiar voices in the hallway, as Sif and Thor came ever closer and their footsteps grew ever louder. Loki clenched at his stomach one last time . . . _an heir for his freedom_. . . the frustration built and built until he could endure no more.

Loki screamed.


	7. Chapter 7

_‘The Bifrost has been repaired.’_

_Frigga smiled at his soft comment. Odin sat on a stone bench beneath an old tree, while the fingers of his left hand played with the engraving along the edges, and – as he lifted his head and looked up at the trees above – the light drifted down through the leaves and cast strange shadows about his face. He was handsome, but the lines on his skin were darker and deeper than ever, while his exhaustion was so bone-deep that she knew time was limited._

_He reached a hand out towards her; Frigga walked towards him over the soft grass, where she took his hand gently in hers and sat beside him, and together they listened to the bees that buzzed around the freshly blooming flowers, while she leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder. A gentle breeze caught at her hair. Odin pressed his lips to her head, leaving a soft kiss to her blond locks, before he breathed deep the scent of her hair and let out a soft laugh, before he pulled away and squeezed at her hand. Frigga whispered:_

_‘You seem saddened by the news.’_

_Odin hummed in response. It took all her self-restraint not to sit upright and look at him, as she knew from experience he would rather maintain the image of the stoic king, but she knew too when he needed comfort and companionship. Frigga rubbed light circles on the back of his hand with her thumb, while their fingers interlocked and she linked her other arm through his to pull him closer, and soon she was reminded of their younger years, even as her eyes fell on their initials still carved onto the tree not far from them. Odin confessed in turn:_

_‘I worry that Thor’s attention will be divided.’_

_‘You know, as well as I, that Loki is his priority in all things.’_

_‘It has been little over a year, my love,’ whispered Odin. ‘The past year-and-a-half has led them to form a good friendship and truce, and I admire Loki’s progress with the healers, but there are many distractions on Midgard and Thor was changed by his experiences in that realm. I fear Thor shall be distracted, while Loki will feel neglected.’_

_‘I shall admit that I fear for Loki.’ Frigga squeezed at his hand. ‘He still holds back from us, afraid of being emotionally vulnerable or honest, and he still suffers under house arrest, but Thor merely wishes to visit Midgard to say his goodbyes . . . he seeks only closure.’_

_‘And what of the issue of an heir?’_

_Frigga finally pulled back just enough to look at him. There was a faint shimmer to his eye, as he strove to hold back a tear, while those lines deepened enough to betray the depths of his emotion, and she saw what no other saw from their king . . . a man like any other man. He worried. He feared. Odin reached out to her with his free hand, so that callused fingertips could trace patterns along her cheek. Frigga nuzzled into the touch to say:_

_‘Loki knows what is expected from him.’_

_Odin tensed against her, as every muscle turned stiff. He let out a long hiss of breath, as his nostrils flared and his eye tightened, and his hand around her cheek pulled away with a slow movement, until he placed his hand over their entwined pair with pursed lips. The conflict was clear . . . love for his wife, frustration with one that kept such a secret . . . Frigga lowered her gaze, unable to bear witnessing his pain, but he soon took her chin in his hand and raised her gaze. A kiss was placed to her lips, before he asked with a smile:_

_‘How did he uncover the truth?’_

_‘This was early last year,’ admitted Frigga. ‘He has yet to tell Thor, but he confided in me as he sought to process his feelings about your contract with Helblindi. Loki knows that he must produce an heir to prevent war, as such he will not let Thor’s attention wander.’_

_‘If Loki feels neglected -? If Thor resents the terms of the contract -?’_

_‘Then we will find a new solution together, as a family.’_

_Odin pressed his forehead against hers. The touch was intimate, as their hair fell and curtained them in a world of their own, and she could practically feel his nervous smile, even as she pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. They remained locked together in silence, hands still held and breaths still shared. Frigga listened as Sif and Loki laughed from some distant room, while the servants gossiped and argued at some distance. The world continued ever onward._

_‘Let us pray Thor returns to us soon,’ said Odin._

* * *

Thor stood alone.

He waited outside the apartment door. The rain pounded against the hallway windows, enough that the familiar pattering noise provided a small comfort, and he drew in deep breaths as he sought to centre himself. A few locals ran down the stairwell with whispered words and loud giggles, only to pause on sight of him and giggle all the louder, before they dashed down to a lower floor with nudges and pokes and childish antics.

London proved to be a strange city, somehow familiar and alien all at once . . . _too busy to claim personal space, no one willing to make small talk or conversation, yet a strong sense of etiquette that ran through all social interactions_. . . Thor ran a hand over his bearded face. It was so far from where Thor expected Jane to reside, especially when the light pollution outside left the stars nothing more than a distant memory. The sky was aglow with oranges and blacks, but never pure enough to see a single familiar constellation.

The apartment door bore a large knocked. Thor reached up with a loud inhale of breath, as he reached to take the cold metal in hand, and – with an imperceptible tremble – lowered his head and licked his lips with a nervous laugh. He lifted his head and rolled back his shoulders, before he jumped from foot to foot with a few mumbled and incoherent words, before he finally worked up the courage to slam the knocker down. He stood tall and feigned courage.

“Coming,” called a voice. “Hold on!”

There came a series of bangs from inside the apartment, followed by a loud curse and someone else yelling back some words of advice, but it led to some form of bickering before silence fell for a brief few seconds. Thor grew worried, until he heard laughter. The original person finally reached the door, where they worked at the various locks and chains, and finally – with a sigh of relief – the door was opened wide to reveal the interior.

Jane stood in front of him. _Beautiful_. He blushed to realise how her hair looked black in the shadows, with her dark eyes blinking back utter confusion, and she was dressed casually in just torn jeans and a jumper that bared one shoulder in an odd fashion. There were bags under her eyes, while her hand pressed to the doorframe clutched a small pile of papers, and he noted a closed laptop under her other arm, while reading glasses hung low on her nose. He bit at his lip, reminded too much of Loki and too much that he had a strong type.

“Thor – Thor is that – is that _you_?”

“Jane, I must apologise, I –”

 _A slap_. Thor hissed in pain; his head snapped to the side, as a strong stinging sensation overcame his cheek, and he rapidly blinked as his eyes watered, only to open and stretch his mouth in an attempt to regain feeling in his jaw. He stepped back with knitted eyebrows to look Jane up and down, only to see that she wept . . . _she wept_. . . the tears rolled down her cheeks and smeared her make-up, as she clenched her hands at her sides. The laptop and paperwork lay scattered on the floor, as she spat out through a choked breath:

“Where _were_ you?”

“The Bifrost was destroyed,” said Thor. “It has taken us this full year-and-a-half to repair the bridge, but – until its completion – I had no means to return to Earth. I know that I swore to return to you, Jane, and I know that it has been far longer than I stated, but you deserved to know the truth and you deserved some sense of closure. I came as soon as I could.”

“So – So you came here to just continue where we left off?” Jane scoffed. “Well, I’ll have you know that _I_ moved on, Thor. I mean, yeah, sure, I . . . I _did_ wait for you at first, but things change and I _needed_ you and you were -! Look, I . . . I – I’m with Donald now.”

“Ah, I am actually married now, too.”

“Huh, I don’t see a ring.”

Thor followed her gaze to his hand. He raised his hand in momentary confusion, before he noted the ring on her second-to-last finger and relaxed his shoulders in comprehension, and offered her a nervous smile and thought back to Loki. Thor thought briefly about the cost of a ring, but realised Loki might see it as a mark of possession. He scratched at his neck, as he shrugged and tried to look over her shoulder, while he said in a low voice:

“Our people do not exchange rings as a sign of commitment.”

Jane hummed in response, as she stepped to the side. The corridor behind her was now visible, exposing several closed doors and part of a living room at the very end, and he noted what looked to be family photographs alongside both main walls. Thor saw several combinations of a blond man, Jane, and two children . . . the eldest appeared to be a girl no more than one year at most, while the other was a brunette baby of indecipherable gender. There were toys strewn about the corridor, along with piles of paperwork and research. Jane asked:

“So who’s the lucky girl?”

“Actually, I am the lucky man.” Thor smiled. “I am married to my best friend. I will not pretend that everything is perfect, as my husband still struggles to open up emotionally to me, but there is trust and respect, and I have hope for our future. Loki and I were married in a small ceremony, but one surrounded by our closest loved ones.”

“Loki? Loki, as in . . . _your brother_?”

“It is a . . . _complicated_ story.” Thor winced and looked away. “Loki was adopted . . . our father was forced to disown him, as such it has left us with no biological _or_ legal ties, and – although he will always be my brother – the world no longer sees us as such. I will admit that our relationship is still somewhat incestuous, but he is not by brother by law or by blood, so those feelings are just that . . . feelings. Objectively, what we have is ethical.”

“Ethical, but not moral,” observed Jane. “Didn’t he try to –?”

“Kill me? Yes, but that is just sibling rivalry.”

Jane laughed with a shake of her head. The rain continued to pound against the windows, and he glanced down the corridor to see the windows of the lounge, where the rain poured over the glass panes and ran in rivulets to cast strange shadows over the floor. He heard childish giggles just off to the side, along with a man’s voice over-emotive as if telling a story for one that could barely understand his words, and a small part of Thor smiled sadly in desire for a family to call his in turn. Thor looked to Jane and asked:

“Who did you pledge your heart?”

“Donald.” Jane smiled with a blush. “We broke up because we wanted different things, you know? He always wanted a family, but all I wanted was a career, and – somehow – we never were able to compromise and keep both, but . . . things change. If they hadn’t changed, maybe we would never have gotten back together, but they did change.”

“What changed?” Thor asked. “You no longer sought a career?”

“Excuse you?” Jane teased with a laugh. “My career is better than ever! Do you know anyone else in this city that works for S.H.I.E.L.D. _and_ has a Nobel Prize under their belt? No, it’s just that _having_ a child made me realise that I could do both, that’s all.”

“I am glad that you were able to fulfil your dreams. If there is one thing that I admired most about you, it was your passion for your studies and work. It reminded me greatly of Loki; he would spend hours during our childhood poring over books, sometimes until he forgot to sleep or eat, and I always envied his ability to concentrate to that extent.”

“Thor, I –?” Jane ran a hand through her hair. “Can we talk?”

“I thought that we were talking?”

“Inside,” whispered Jane. “Please? It’s important.”

Jane held open the door, as Thor entered with a quirked eyebrow. He hung Mjölnir from a coat-rack, while Jane fidgeted with the locks on the doors, and – with a feigned smile – she led him into the lounge with her head hung low and hands in her pockets. Thor saw a cot in a far corner, where the baby slept with a mobile whirring above its head, and smiled to see tiny fists reaching high in the air for the bouncing ducks. Jane sat a low table

Thor spotted Donald by a small kitchenette. He was a darker shade of blond, verging on brunet, and his body – although toned and muscular – was more on par with an athlete than a bodybuilder, while his suit marked him as someone highly professional. Thor moved towards him, with hand raised ready to shake his hand with a wide smile, but then he saw it . . . he saw _her_. . . the girl in his arms, who looked so much younger on a closer glance. The girl was perhaps nine or ten months old in total, which brought a sense of dread to his heart.

The pounding of his pulse echoed in his ears.

Thor stepped closer and closer, stopping only a few feet from Donald. He looked down at the girl whose white-blonde hair was slightly kinked, while bright blue eyes looked up with a wide curiosity, and – as she made incomprehensible gurgles – she struggled to get out of Donald’s hold, enough that Thor noticed bruises on his hands. The girl was strong. Thor blinked away tears and cast his gaze to Donald, as he raised his trembling hands with a silent plea for permission, and Donald nodded back to hand the girl to him. Thor whispered:

“What is her name?”

Thor bounced her on his hip. A tiny hand reached up for his lovelock, yanking with enough strength to make him wince and laugh, and – as he gently pried her hand away – he realised that only an Asgardian would have the strength to harm an Asgardian. He walked over to the sofas, where he sat opposite Jane and held the child on his lap. Donald called out that he would give them some space, taking the brunet baby away into another room, and Thor allowed his tears to fall as he stared at the girl in amazement. Jane let out a long sigh.

“Thrúd,” said Jane. “Thrúd Thorsdóttir.”

It was all the confirmation he needed. He pulled the child flush against him, as he buried his face into her neck, and wept with regret at the lost months and hope for the millennia to come, while he laughed through his tears and pulled back to stroke at her hair. Thrúd pursed her lips and furrowed her brow, confused by a clear stranger, but there was also something intelligent and analytical, even as she cast glances back to her mother for reassurance. Thor asked:

“I am a father?”

“I wanted to tell you,” swore Jane. “I found out I was pregnant a few weeks after you left, but there was no way to get in touch with you! I waited and I waited, Thor. You never came back, and it got to so far in the pregnancy that I had to change my priorities, so I focussed on finding a place to settle down and creating a home for our daughter. I actually met Donald again during a routine check-up during my pregnancy, and – well – we hit it off.

“He was always good with patients and bad at relationships, but time passed and we got talking about things . . . I had to stop some treatments while I carried Thrúd, so he helped put my mind at rest and supported me . . . we got married a month after Thrúd was born. He wanted Thrúd to take his name, but I knew one day you would come back.”

“You had faith in me to return?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I was pissed you left,” confessed Jane. “It’s just I didn’t get the impression you were a bad guy or the type of guy to stay away without a reason, and I kind of figured Thrúd might grow to have powers or live a long life, too, so I wanted her to maintain a connection to you. I figured the day would come when I wouldn’t be around, so she would need an Asgardian parent to teach her about her physiology and powers, you know?”

Thor smiled and hugged Thrúd closer. They would need the healers to confirm his suspicions, but – judging by her strength and close family resemblance – he knew that she would live millennia just as her ancestors lived for long and fulfilling lives. He breathed deep the rich baby scent, while Thrúd tried to climb over his back and pulled his hair, until he laughed and sat back to look into her eyes. Thor pulled faces until she laughed back. He knew Frigga would love Thrúd, but he worried what Loki and Odin would think. Jane joked:

“Thrúd Blake doesn’t sound right anyway.”

“No, it does not,” said Thor.

“Anyway, Donald and I kind of accidentally got pregnant about six weeks later.” Jane flushed a deep shade of red. “The doctors gave us the all clear to have sex again, so we did, only things didn’t quite end up as planned and – well – now we have our son . . . Michael. Thrúd actually turns one next month, if you wanted to hang around for her party?”

“I have to return to Asgard.” Thor winced and shrugged. “I also cannot bear the idea of my daughter living without me in her life, while my realm does need an heir and Loki has been reluctant to provide one between us, so perhaps . . . we could talk about custody?”

“I’m not giving up custody, Thor. I want to cherish every second I have.”

“No, I would not dream of taking our daughter from you,” swore Thor. “I do wish for access to Thrúd, however, but we can discuss this at length some other time, perhaps? I can arrange for you to visit Asgard with Thrúd. I will return here for her birthday party, and then perhaps we can spend some days in Asgard? You will then be able to make an informed choice.”

Thor struggled to hold Thrúd, as she fought to break away to wander. There was a burning curiosity in her eyes, as he dropped her to the floor, and – grabbing at the edge of the table to toddle along – she would try to reach for various pens and papers and books, only for Jane to snatch them away and apologise for the mess. Jane soon swept Thrúd into her arms, where a look of exhaustion swept over her features, yet still there was a strong smile that spoke of love and devotion. Thor wiped away a tear with his thumb, before he chanced:

“If you consent, I would take Thrúd for some months each year. You would have our daughter for the majority of time, but I would also have enough time to teach her the ways of our people and to forge a strong bond. If she chooses, once she is an adult, we will always have a place for her on Asgard. I will always watch over her.”

“You know how fragile human life is, right?” Jane smiled. “We live for eighty years at most, sometimes less, and Thrúd has family here, too . . . I know it’s complicated, just like I know she’s your only heir . . . I just don’t want for her to ever forget she’s part human, too.”

“Thrúd shall never forget,” swore Thor. “We do not know what she shall decide, as she may seek to abdicate the throne as I myself once considered, and perhaps she will wish to live here on Earth, as I would understand. If – after you pass many years from now – she chooses to reside on Asgard, I will see to it that she will always return to Earth, so that she shall not forget her roots or that her mother loved her above all else. I swear this to you.”

Thor watched as Thrúd struggled to get down, before toddling away so fast that she fell on all fours and started to crawl instead, and – as she raced away ever faster and faster – Jane called out to the master bedroom just off from the lounge. Donald came out to whisk Thrúd into his arms and take her away, while Thrúd laughed and squealed and poked at his face with a clear familiarity as if he were her father . . . in a way he was, as he was the only father figure she ever knew in those few short months. Thor felt his heart break as the door closed.

He lowered his head, while the storm raged on outside. A clench of his fists and a hiss of breath was soon followed by a spark of lightning, followed by rolls of thunder that had the lights flickering and the children crying, and Thor let out a long sigh as he fought the urge to run to Thrúd’s side, only to scrunch closed his eyes. He breathed low and deep, until the thunder and lightning passed, and asked Jane with tears in his eyes:

“Will you both visit Asgard?”

Jane jumped in her seat. He noticed the conflict writ across her features, as her curiosity waged with her uncertainty, and he noticed how her eyes moved to the bedroom door, just as he noticed a small bruise on the back of her hand . . . it would be some years until Thrúd would learn to control her strength around mortals . . . he winced and bit into his lip. Jane smiled and listened as Thrúd’s cries turned to laughter, while Donald sang a nursery rhyme in an off-key and clapped a badly kept beat. The storm raged on in the distance.

“Sure,” said Jane. “We’ll visit.”

They shared an awkward silence, while Donald played with Thrúd and Michael. It was possible that – had things been different – Thor would have returned to a waiting relationship, one between equals and friends, but no relationship between them could have withstood their vast differences and their different perceptions of time itself. Thor looked to her and saw a friend . . . he saw the mother of his daughter, who sacrificed so much to raise Thrúd . . .

“Thank you,” whispered Thor. “ _Thank you_.”


	8. Chapter 8

Odin stormed outside.

Thor caught the redness to his cheeks, as well as the unshed tear to his eye. The formal armour shone in the sunlight, leaving burning afterimages on Thor’s retinas, and – as Odin paused in the doorway – he narrowed his gaze on Thor. Thor winced. Odin pursed his lips and clenched his hands, while his nostrils flared and he shook his head, but he soon turned his back on Thor and marched away without a single word to match his rage.

The silence unnerved Thor more than anything else. He watched as Odin fled out of sight along the covered walkway, while the wind caught at his hair and long robes, until – with a sigh – Thor turned back to face the solarium. It was difficult to gather the courage to enter, as his heart raced and his mouth ran dry, but he could see Loki through the large arches . . . _pacing, snarling, strangling the air_. . . Thor lowered his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, while he bit his lip and sought the strength to continue. Loki growled out from inside.

He was dressed in casual green clothes, with black hair in loose curls, and – as Thor smiled at the ever-growing length – he silently cursed that Loki appeared disturbed from a sleep, unable to find time for the many leather layers or the thick hair products that typically followed with time to prepare for his day. Loki stopped in the solarium. He spun around and turned to face Thor with a curled lip and clenched fists, as Thor raised a hand to greet him.

“Loki, I must speak with you,” called Thor.

Thor drew in a deep breath and feigned a smile. He strode towards the solarium and stepped inside, where a sticky sweat broke over his skin and forced him to pull at his clothes, and yet there was little time to adjust to the sudden heat. Loki raced across the stone floor. He stopped a few inches from Thor, standing on tiptoe to break that inch or so distance between them, and Thor was forced to reel back to avoid the warm breath on his lips, until Loki spat with such biting venom that spit sprayed over Thor’s cheek:

“You have a _child_?”

The question lingered between them. Thor scrunched closed his eyes, as he took in deep breaths of air, before he reached out and cupped the back of Loki’s neck, as he pressed their foreheads together and opened his eyes to see how Loki’s lips trembled. There was a strong breeze outside, which caught at the leaves of the trees and let loose a long rustling sound, while the guards paced to and fro with loud clinks of their armour. Thor whispered:

“Father told you?”

“He hardly had much of a choice.” Loki let out a broken laugh. “You don’t even realise what is at stake, do you? He is _furious_ with you, as he has every right to be! Our situation was complicated as things stood, but you just _had_ to knock up the first slut to spread her legs to you, didn’t you? I haven’t even words to express my contempt. You . . . You thoughtless _oaf_!”

“Loki, I cannot even imagine how difficult this must be for you, but –”

“No, you _can’t_ imagine! It was a conversation I hoped to avoid until I could formulate some working solutions, but – thanks to you – the Allfather has been pressed to discuss with me our plans for an heir at great length. ‘Are you trying?’ ‘Do you plan to try?’ _Such questions_!”

Loki curled his lip, before he pushed away. He marched over to a stone bench by one of the large arched windows, where he sat down with legs parted and hands clenched between, and – as he panted for breath – Thor noted the many plants within the solarium. Frigga was present in every pot and tray, where immaculately kept flowers bloomed in fresh soil, and the heavy fragrance of pollen spread about the humid air almost pleasant.

Thor pulled at the hem of his grey undershirt. He long abandoned his armour in their rooms, dressing only in loose and casual attire, but now Thor almost wished that the etiquette was as lax as on Midgard, so he could remove his layers and go shirtless. There were visible sweat stains beneath his armpits and along his back, as he billowed out his shirt and tried to gain some air, and he stalked over to Loki and slumped down beside him, resting his head against the window behind. He drew in a deep breath, as he furrowed his brow and said:

“Loki, what we choose to do or –”

“There was a _contract_ , Thor,” said Loki. “I only found out some weeks after our wedding, but Odin Allfather did not just promise the Winter Casket to Helblindi . . . he promised an _heir_ to Jotunheim. We were given until the Bifrost’s completion to conceive, which was perceived to be approximately two years, and – _so_ thoughtfully – Helblindi has allowed us the extra six months to conceive a child naturally or via surrogate.

“We could have argued for longer, but now Asgard has a legitimate heir -?” Loki rolled his eyes. “Helblindi will be furious, as he will see this as a possible circumvention of the deals behind our contract . . . a way to secure _you_ an heir while denying _him_ one. He will press harder for a child, one that will rule after his death, and to deny him . . .”

“The Allfather would not agree to such conditions,” spat Thor.

“It was a choice between that and war, Thor. The Winter Casket was given in recompense for my attempted genocide, while an heir was offered as recompense for my perceived ‘kidnapping’ . . . the child will spend a month each year in Jotunheim, as well as have lessons in Jotun culture and language here in Asgard, and rule in Jotunheim on Helblindi’s death.”

Thor jumped upright. He clenched his hands at his sides, as he marched to the open solarium doors and looked out over the gardens, and – as he turned his gaze to the covered walkway – he narrowed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. Odin was long gone, but the adrenaline coursed through Thor as if he were in direct confrontation. Every muscle ached. A drop of blood fell from his palm, where his nails dug in deep, and he was sure a tooth cracked with the pressure of his tightened jaw. He struggled to control his breaths.

_A crack of thunder._

A burst of lightening appeared in the sky, as the humidity finally betrayed the oncoming storm, and a downfall of rain fell from above and covered the garden below, until that familiar loud patter drowned out all other sounds. A few sparks of lightening crackled over Thor’s skin, until a long inhale helped to centre his thoughts, and – as he mentally called forth for Mjölnir – he grew grounded and the burst of adrenaline died down.

It took a few seconds for Mjölnir to reach him, but one grip of the handle was enough to help his vision to clear and his head to cease its pounding, and he dropped Mjölnir to the ground beside him with a relieved sigh, while the clouds above cleared and the thunder died down with soft rumbles of protest. Thor spun around. Loki still sat on the stone bench, although goosebumps appeared on his skin and he shivered with the sudden drop in temperature. Thor marched over to him and pointed an accusatory finger, as he spat:

“I am to forfeit my _child_?”

“You are to forfeit the _spare_ to your heir,” said Loki. “We might have been able to argue politics over just one child _between_ us, possibly making the claim that they must serve as heir to Asgard over Jotunheim, but any loopholes or exceptions to that damned contract are nothing but a faint dream now . . . you have an heir, Thor. You will not need a second.”

“These are my children, Loki!” Thor curled his lip. “Not only do they seek to coerce us into procreation, but they would take our child from us and deny us the right to raise them as we see fit! This is an offence that will not stand. It is our right to decide what to do with our bodies, especially as we have yet to decide even to conceive, and I will not bring an unwanted child into a loveless environment just to appease a foreign sovereign!”

“So you would risk war?” Loki scoffed. “You have learned nothing.”

“I have learned my family and home are more important than power and politics. I do not want the throne, Loki, and I would have been happy to pass the throne to you, had you proven yourself worthy and not acted as you had acted. Still, I have a duty to my people. I will act every part the prince I am expected to act, until I must reluctantly take the role of king and protect my people and my realm until my dying breath. I am not like you . . .

“It is not a duty I will abide at all costs. I will not be one to make hard choices that require sacrifice of any single soul, as such I do not like the idea of using a future son or daughter of ours as a scapegoat, giving them to Helblindi without so much as a conversation about what that may entail! How could you hide this from me? This – This is a betrayal that –”

“I have betrayed you?” Loki asked. “ _I_ betrayed _you_?”

Loki cast his gaze upward. He narrowed his eyes until they became mere slits, while his skin turned a deathly pale that verged on sickly, and – as he brought his hands up and tented them before his mouth – he curled his lip and leaned back. Thor panted for breath, as he paced back and forth across the tiled floor with heavy footsteps. A long and low laugh escaped Loki’s lips, until he slammed a fist onto the bench loud enough to make Thor flinch. Thor stopped dead in his tracks. Loki let out a long hiss of breath, as he choked out:

“You have a bastard with a mortal.”

Thor snarled an incoherent response. The rain struck the panes of glass so hard that it was impossible to see beyond the rivulets of water, and Thor threw himself beside Loki with a heavy thud that rocked the bench and forced Loki to stumble where he sat. They shared in an uncomfortable silence, while Loki picked at his hands and stared at the floor, and Thor closed his eyes with tears pricking at the corners. He said in a quiet whisper:

“Do not call Thrúd a bastard.”

“I should show respect to the child that ruined my life?” Loki shook his head. “Do you know that Helblindi has offered to pardon me should I provide him an heir? It was an added incentive, as he likely knows I would rather risk war than mindlessly obey a Jotun. This heir would have secured me my freedom . . . no house arrest, no constant surveillance . . .”

“You should have _told_ me this sooner, Loki.”

“Now you have an heir, you can annul,” continued Loki. “Where is my security? I have only your word that you would not cast me aside, perhaps even marry this Jane, and who knows who Helblindi will force me to marry when I’m his property. You _damned_ me.”

“No, Loki. I will never leave you. I _swore_ to you at our wedding to forever be faithful, while I have loved you for so long that I cannot even recall when it started. I was willing to risk everything to be with you . . . even now my friends view our marriage as incestuous, but I have not once hidden my affections or commitment from them. I am not ashamed of my love for you, even if it is difficult to pretend this is a growing affection and not . . . well . . .”

“A pre-existing incestuous desire?” Loki prompted.

“Yes, that,” laughed Thor.

He wiped at his eyes with a loud sniff. Loki slouched beside him, attempting an appearance of ‘nonchalance’ that not-quite-reached his lips pulled into a pout, and Thor – with a trembling hand – reached out to touch his shoulder, where he squeezed just hard enough to gain Loki’s attention. Loki let his head roll to the side, as Thor sniffed again and let his shaking lips formulate a broken smile. The rain continued to fall, while guards muttered complaints outside, and Thor ignored all else to ask with sincerity:

“Did you want to provide a Jotun heir?”

Loki let out a long sigh, as he reached up for Thor’s hand. He let his arm cross his chest, while his fingers entwined with Thor’s with a familiar intimacy, and – with Thor’s arm also crossed over his chest – they both laughed at how uncomfortable the gesture must have appeared to an outside eye, until Loki moved to sit on Thor’s other side. They clasped their hands between them, while Thor rubbed circles with his thumb.

“No, I did not,” confessed Loki.

“Would you have conceived a child anyway?”

“I don’t know, Thor,” admitted Loki. “I only know it would have been _my_ choice. I have so little power left under the thumb of the Allfather, trapped behind these palace walls, and this . . . this was the _one_ choice that was completely mine and mine alone. Do I provide an heir? Do I keep chaste and let war wage? It was _my_ decision. _Mine_.”

“It still is your decision,” swore Thor. “Even if you choose to bear an heir, we can use a surrogate or use artificial insemination. I am satisfied with our sex life, Loki, but I know that for you penetrative sex is something sacred, and I know you fear being . . . receptive.”

“You know the _ergi_ stigma. I endured enough for my _seiðr_ , but to be seen as less of a man simply because you were the one to take me just once . . . it infuriates me, Thor! I fail to see how someone’s sexual preferences or choices define them, but here I am risking the loss of people’s respect and the destruction of my dignity. Even if I sacrifice that much, can we honestly say we are ready for a child? I would make an awful father.”

“I am already a father, so ‘too soon’ is a discussion ‘too late’.”

“Ah, that also reminds me. What if I grow to resent you?” Loki smirked and shrugged. “It is only natural to love your child more than your lover, which I cannot blame you . . . even if I _loathe_ you for having put me in this situation to be second-place to a half-breed mongrel, but even that I could abide. Damn it, maybe I could even grow to love Thrúd as you will love her, but what if we _do_ have a second child . . . what happens when the inevitable comes?”

Thor winced and held harder to that hand. He tried to think to a potential future . . . _one or two sons with Loki, Thrúd complaining that they trailed after her, laughter from their three children over breakfast and tantrums by lunchtime . . ._ Thor smiled. He remembered too well pranks and arguments with Loki, as well as shared secrets and lifelong bonds, and yet he knew why Loki was concerned. They would all be _his_ children, but only two would be Loki’s and those two would be part Jotun. Thor blushed and asked in a whisper:

“Do you really think I would love Thrúd more?”

“Why not?” Loki asked. “I would.”

It was a cold revelation. Thor squeezed Loki’s hand and closed his eyes; he drew in slow and deep breaths, while the dark clouds above cast dark shadows through the windows, and suddenly his greatest concern was not ‘how many children’ but rather whether those children would still be loved. Thor swallowed hard, as his mouth ran dry and he reopened his eyes to look at Loki, but Loki would not meet his gaze. He looked frightened . . . tense . . .

They sat in silence while Thor gathered his thoughts, but Loki would move with little creaks of his leather boots, which jolted Thor’s full attention onto him with every sound, and his stomach churned and rolled with the realisation of Loki’s self-hatred. Thor let out a long sigh. He climbed from the bench and knelt before Loki, where he reached out to wrap his hand around that soft neck and rubbed his thumb along a hard jaw, and – with a smile – he blinked away tears and nodded deep towards Loki with deep acknowledgement. He whispered:

“Talk to me, Loki.”

“Our child will be a Jotun, Thor,” confessed Loki. “If they have the misfortune to take Jotun form – as they might, being that my genes are dominant – then it means we shall have to look at their blue skin and facial markings on a daily basis. Odin will not cast blood magic to change their physiology as he did me, as they will be a Jotun _heir_. They will _be_ Jotun.”

“You are a Jotun, Loki, yet I love you more than any other.”

“How can you love me when I cannot love myself?”

Loki lowered his head. Thor screwed shut his eyes with a deep breath, before he planted his buttocks on the floor and sat cross-legged, so that his ever lower stance could allow for some form of eye-contact, even as Loki closed his eyes in turn. Thor listened to his heart pounding in his ears, while the sweat on his skin forced his clothed to cling to him, and he continued to stroke at Loki’s jaw even as Loki appeared to bite the inside of his cheek. The wind howled loud outside, while the sky grew black, and Loki choked out a mumbled:

“Do you wish to know my greatest fear?”

“What do you fear, Husband?”

“I fear I shall love Thrúd.” Loki laughed. “Jane will one day die, leaving us what will be a teenager still early in Asgardian development, and Thrúd will look like you and perhaps act like you and will be heir to Asgard. I will live knowing our son will be a Jotun, never able to be more than a spare for this realm, and what then . . . what if . . .

“I know that I am like Odin, Thor. I know it whenever someone comments how much I sound like him, or when someone curls their lip envisioning I will be no different from him, and yet – as much as I love him – I still hold such resentment and anger toward him, just as I know he struggles to relate to me on the level he relates to you. I cannot become him, Thor! I cannot grow to make the same mistakes as he did . . . playing favourites . . . I – I cannot.”

The tears finally ran over pale cheeks. It was rare to see Loki reduced to tears, as he always bit his lip to hold back his emotion, and the last time Thor saw such raw emotion was when Loki let go on the Bifrost . . . Thor nearly lost him, nearly missed clutching his hand . . . every sign of emotion since left him afraid. Thor was afraid Loki would let go; only this time he would be unable to catch him, forced to watch him fall away into the abyss. Thor slid his hand down so he could clasp both Loki’s and held them between them. He said:

“You fear our child will suffer as you suffered.”

“I fear being the reason _why_ they suffer,” admitted Loki. “I cannot be the monster that the world sees me as, just as I can’t be the monster I know myself to be, and you said it yourself that I often play the role of ‘trickster’. Do you remember how you once fell out with me when I insinuated myself with a local people? I denied I knew you, but simply as I wished for you not to be caught up with their local fighting rings. They wanted you to fight.

“I also remember calling Heimdall to bring us home early from a fight, even as our opponent stopped Mjölnir with a single touch, and how you accused me of spoiling your fun, when really I sought to protect you from harm. I _act_ in ways that seem childish or cruel, as I seek to save face, and usually you see right through me, but would a child?”

“Our child would grow to know your quirks.”

“As I grew to understand Odin’s?”

Loki pulled away to walk toward the window. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the stone arch, while his green eyes shimmered with the reflections from the glass, and – as he stood – the silence was punctuated by distant thunder and the pounding sound of raindrops on glass. Thor awkwardly stood, so that he could come behind Loki and wrap his arms around that toned waist, while he buried his face into the crook of Loki’s neck.

They stood in a comfortable silence, while both swayed and held tight, and soon Thor could almost pretend that nothing else mattered between them except that one moment, even as his mind wandered to Thrúd and wondered about nurseries and education . . . Loki sighed and lifted his hand to bury itself in Thor’s hair. The touch was soft and warm, as – through the window – Thor caught sight of Frigga at the end of the covered hallway, and she waved to them before turning back inside to allow them some privacy. Thor pleaded:

“You will not run away from this, Loki?”

“Where would I run, Thor?” Loki teased. “Jotunheim?”

“Then let me reiterate: this is _your_ choice.” Thor pressed a kiss to his neck. “I can understand your fears, as such I will set aside the next few days just for you . . . I will cancel all meetings, I will cancel all plans, and I will speak to no one else. Let us work out how _you_ want to proceed, Loki. I love you, so I will not see you hurt or needlessly stress.”

“Is it ‘needless’ stress? It is a choice between potential war and a child neither of us are ready to raise, while also forcing me to trust a strange to carry the child to term, or – or bearing the child myself and enduring a lifelong stigma in the process.”

“We will get through this together, I swear to you.”

“Will we, Thor? Will we?”

Thor continued to look through the window. The distorted images revealed marching guards, along with flowers and plants bending in the strong wind, and the sky above lit up with lightning that appeared to strike in time with each of Thor’s doubts. He looked over towards a far balcony, where he squinted in anticipation of the sight of Odin, but the balcony remained bare and their father remained hidden away from them. The storm raged onward. Thor took in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Loki’s soaps, as he promised:

“I will confront Father about this.”

“And say what, Thor?” Loki rolled his eyes. “Odin will push forward even harder now for a Jotun heir, which will be _after_ he seeks you to disown Thrúd . . . he will hope and pray I will then give you two children, as it is better a quarter-Jotun sit on the throne than a half-mortal. I am at a loss, Thor, but I fear more than anything playing favourites . . . becoming him . . .”

“That will not happen, Loki. Do you forget we are a married couple? We are equals and we share in all problems. I will never let you become the thing you fear most, but I also trust you more than our friends warn me is healthy. I know you will treat our children as equals.”

“‘Our children’.” Loki scoffed. “Have we already made a commitment?”

“A bad choice of words,” said Thor. “Let us talk about this. I want to know why you hid this from me, but I also know you need comfort in turn about what this means for us. Will you spend the next few days with me, Loki? Let us find a solution to suit us.”

Loki spun around in his grasp. He threw his hands over Thor’s shoulders, as he pressed a chaste kiss to his lips and then pulled away with a lingering touch to his chest, and – walking toward the doorway – he stood right on the edge to the gardens. Loki smiled and stuck out a foot, where he let it linger just an inch above the wet grass until the leather grew damp, only to pull it back with a sigh and a roll of his eyes. He turned and asked:

“What if we can come to no solution that suits us?”

“Then we will wait for Thrúd’s visit,” said Thor. “It could be that decisions with Jane might change matters, while perhaps spending time with Thrúd will ignite a paternal urge in us, but – whatever the case – we can talk some more once they have left. This can be a continuous dialogue between us, without pressure for a sudden decision. Let us take our time.”

“But the Allfather shall demand a –”

Thor marched towards Loki. He pressed a finger to soft lips, which only brought a dark glare from Loki who swatted away his hand, and Thor smiled to look out over the gardens, where he grinned at Loki and pushed wide the door. It smashed against the outer wall, leaving a small indent on the brick, and Loki – with an audible sigh – threw back his head at the sensation of rain on his skin and wind in his hair. Thor embraced him and pushed him as close to the boundary as they both dared, while he swore in a serious voice:

“Let us take our time, Loki.”

Loki smiled and turned, so close to the gardens and yet so far. They listened to the guards training in the yards not far from earshot, while someone laughed from the kitchens in a high-pitched giggle, and yet the smile on his lips hid something deeper. Thor winced and held him ever tighter, as they allowed the rain to soak their skin. Time seemed to stand still, even as they let the questions of Thrúd and a Jotun heir linger between them. Loki whispered:

“Thank you, Thor.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Ah, Thrúd is a truly beautiful child!”

Odin laughed on sight of her smile. Thrúd sat in Jane’s arms in the infirmary; every loud noise or sudden gesture would have her burying her head against Jane, as if she could hide away from the world around her, and yet – each time Odin let out a billowing laugh – her blonde hair would move to reveal a big smile that lit up her blue eyes. It was not long before she reached to him with a grasping hand, and he laughed all the louder at her affection.

He shot out his hands and snatched Thrúd away; Jane let out a squeak of protest and instinctively reached back for her child, even as Odin turned his back on her and walked across the room with long strides, and Thor – with a wince – placed a hand on her shoulder and shook his head with an apologetic grimace. Jane drew in a harsh breath, as he cheeks puffed out and her eyes narrowed on Thor. He bit his lip as she jerked her head toward Odin, but Odin contented himself with bouncing Thrúd on his hip with no thought to Jane.

“I can see a strong resemblance to Thor,” observed Odin.

The healers closed down the various computers and stole away their files, before the bowed to both king and prince and departed the infirmary to give them space, and the room was emptied with only Jane breaking the silence with sighs and hisses. It was true that she was very much a bystander to their daughter’s life since her arrival, with Odin paying more mind to Thrúd than her and the healers whisking her away for tests without any consent, and yet Thor knew to choose his battles. Odin laughed again, as Thrúd gripped his callused finger.

“Thrúd may have your eyes, but she very much has Loki’s expressions.”

“You know,” Jane asked, “I had a part in making her, right?”

“It is that smile.” Odin ignored Jane with a tear in his eye. “Loki smiled that exact same way when I first held him in my arms. I remember my sister would smile that same way as children, enough that she must have passed such beauty onto Loki, and – _look_ – she reaches out with such a curious grasp! Again, Loki was always the curious one of you boys.”

Thor cast his head down with a smile. It was rare to see such a human side to Odin, who always strove to be stoic and detached even when they were in private, but seeing Odin so emotive brought back dozens of forgotten memories from his youth . . . _stories told, kisses given, laughter shared_. . . Thor bit his lip as he turned to Jane. Jane stood beautiful in the Asgardian dress, but her stance and expression betrayed her Midgardian heritage.

No woman in their realm would stand with legs parted. No woman would curl her lip at a man, let alone a king. Thor struggled to hold back laughter, as he knew that Jane would be a great companion for Sif once they met, but there was also the lingering worry that Odin’s patience would wear thin for one that was considered too far beneath him to notice. Jane winced any time Odin threw Thrúd in the air, while reaching out any time he swung her around, and Thor scratched at his neck to call out in soft words:

“Father, I think Jane wishes for Thrúd back.”

Odin let out a sound between a snarl and a growl. He continued to bounce Thrúd, while he turned to look at Jane who swayed and caught herself against a doorway, and – as she brought a hand to her forehead and struggled for breath – Odin rolled his eye and shook his head. Thor let out a long exhale of breath, as he walked to her side and helped her to stand on two feet, as she blushed and whispered something about stress and exhaustion.

“Thrúd may stay here,” said Odin. “Send Jane away.”

It was Jane’s turn to laugh. Thor shot out a hand to grab her arm, barely preventing her from storming forward to confront Odin, and – as she was yanked back by the sudden force – she spun around and pointed an accusatory finger in his direction. Thor let out a sharp breath, while he threw his hands in the air with mock surrender. A stolen glance to Odin revealed that Odin was oblivious to her rage. Jane flushed a dark shade of red, while brown eyes were narrowed into dark slits, and she hunched forward as she spat out:

“I am _not_ leaving without my daughter!”

“Thrúd has an Asgardian lifespan,” scoffed Odin. “This child has enough strength that you bruise any time she throws a tantrum! You could endure her strength? You could teach her our customs? No, Thrúd is our heir apparent and must learn our ways, but a mortal – on the other hand – belongs no more in Asgard than a goat at a banquet table.”

“Did you just -?” Jane glared at Thor. “Did he just call me a ‘ _goat’_?”

“I am sure he meant no disrespect,” reassured Thor.

“I meant every word, my son,” said Odin.

Thor ran a hand over his face. He clenched a hand at his side, as his heart raced and his mouth ran dry, and – drawing in a deep breath – he saw that Odin smirked in such a way that betrayed his indifference. If Loki ever doubted his place as Odin’s son, it was clearly an unwarranted doubt. Odin exuded arrogance. He stood tall with never a single glance cast to Jane, while every word was _about_ her and never directed _to_ her, but always somehow contained an insult that expressed complete contempt for her entire person.

“That is where Loki gets his tact,” muttered Thor.

“Look, I am _not_ leaving my daughter here,” said Jane. “I said I would come here to _talk_ , which is all well and fine, but I’m not just going to leave my daughter on a strange planet with total strangers, and – no – I _can’t_ live here with my family, either! Donald and Michael have lives and family back on Earth. I do, too. I mean . . . joint custody is fine, but –”

“Oh!” A voice chirped a voice: “Is that my beautiful granddaughter?”

Thor glanced to the doorway.

Frigga clasped her hands before her mouth. There were tears in her eyes, as she all but ran to Thrúd and gently removed her from Odin’s arms, and – burying her face against Thrúd – clasped her in a warm and maternal embrace. It was an endearing sight. Thrúd let out a loud yawn, as she cuddled against Frigga and grasped lightly at her low necklace, and those small lips murmured contently as Thrúd was rocked back and forth with slow movements.

A scoff from the door alerted Thor to Loki, who rolled his eyes at the sight. Thor froze. Every muscle in his body tensed, as his heart raced in his chest, and he waited with held breath to see how Loki would react to Thrúd. No words were exchanged at first, even as Loki strode across the infirmary with head held high and not a single glance toward Thor or Jane, but he soon stopped by Frigga and let out a long sigh at the sight before him. A gloved hand reached out toward Thrúd, only to pause a few inches from her head. Loki then bridged the gap.

Thrúd stirred from her deepening sleep. Tiny blue eyes opened wide, as she blinked up at Loki and reached out a hand toward him, and – as he stroked at her blond hair – she soon realised that he was not willing to give her his hand. The impassive face was soon replaced with a frown, as she threw her head back and buried herself against Frigga with a sharp pout and a huff of indignation. Loki withdrew his hand in turn and flared his nostrils with a hiss.

“You see,” laughed Odin. “They even bear the same frown!”

“You think I look like this mongrel?” Loki asked.

“Loki, do not show such disrespect,” chided Frigga. “We did not raise you to show such contempt of others, especially a child that cannot argue back against such insults, and I believe I am right to assume Thrúd has our lifespan? We need not worry?”

“The healers say that Thrúd is of perfect health,” said Thor. “There is no doubt she will have our lifespan, as well as our strength, and they detect the same _seiðr_ through her veins that runs through ours. Loki and I were lucky to come fro such royal blood, as is Thrúd who will wield our same powers with time and training. There are no complications.”

“Even with _that_ as a mother?” Loki asked.

Thor bit his lip until he drew blood. He said nothing, even as Loki raised his hands and glanced to Frigga with an innocent expectation, and – sensing his unspoken request – Frigga nodded her consent and slid Thrúd into his arms. Thrúd immediately began to toss and turn, clearly distressed and uncomfortable, and Loki’s eyes grew wide with an untold level of panic, until he desperately sought to slide Thrúd back to Frigga with muttered complaints.

Frigga gave a gentle laugh, as she shook her head at him. A few well placed touches helped him to adjust his hold on Thrúd, so that he supported her neck and allowed most of her weight to fall on his hip, and – as Frigga warned him to relax his muscles – Thrúd soon stopped her tears and steadily fell back into her slumber. Loki widened his eyes, but this time a smile fell across his lips with a broken laugh He looked proud. Frigga placed a kiss to his forehead and then to Thrúd, as Thor gathered what was left of his patience and called over:

“Loki, I will ask you to –”

“Thrúd _is_ rather adorable,” admitted Loki. “If I am to play the part of ‘stepfather’, I am glad that it is to a child that can pass as a full Asgardian. Still, _must_ you dress Thrúd in such hideous attire? I have seen Midgardian clothing firsthand. There is no need to rely on such tacky cloths and common styles, and you know biologically she _is_ my cousin . . . must I be associated with a child that looks dressed for busking and begging?”

“ _I_ dressed her,” spat Jane. “I picked her entire outfit.”

“That explains a lot,” spat Loki.

Loki looked Jane over with a raised eyebrow. It took a considerable amount of strength to hold Jane back, as Thor swung her around and placed both hands on her shoulders, and – as he feigned a smile – he endured a considerable relief that they had long broken up, as he was certain anyone subjected to such a first meeting with his family would have left him in an instant. Thor pulled back his hands to clench his fists and lower his head, while he listened to Odin coo over Thrúd and Loki make cold remarks on her appearance.

He took in a deep breath and opened his hands, before he let out a long sigh and walked over to them, and – with a forced smile – took Thrúd from Loki and handed her to Frigga, who appeared to understand his concerns and walked back to Jane with a blush. Loki let out a cry of frustration as Jane took Thrúd into her arms, one so childish that his face contorted and Thor was certain that the cause was envy alone. Thor pointed a finger to him and warned:

“Loki, Jane is the mother of my child!”

“Yes, I noticed.” Loki curled his lip. “I also noticed she is the mother to another child. How many children will this creature breed? Here our women have something called ‘monogamy’; I dare you to point to any woman in Asgard who is anything less than chaste, loyal, and able to name her children’s _sole_ father without first being prompted. Just an observation.”

“Seriously?” Jane asked. “You’re implying I’m somehow promiscuous?”

“I thought I was outright _stating_ it, but I suppose I can see how that may be lost on you.” Loki laughed and shook his head. “You slept with my husband, Jane Foster. I simply wondered how many other men you might have slept with, as it certainly seems to be a habit.”

“Loki, I did not raise you to have such a misogynistic view,” chided Frigga. “I do not doubt that Jane is a chaste and respectful woman, but – even were she promiscuous – would you chastise any man of our realm for the same behaviours? Fandral makes no secret his conquests. Thor had lovers before you. This hypocrisy becomes you not, my son.”

“I did not mean to offend you, Mother, but –”

“Your father and I were intimate before marriage, am I a fallen woman?”

Loki flushed a deep shade of red. He winced and walked to the far corner of the infirmary, where he threw himself against a pillar with an obvious pout, and Odin simply scoffed with a roll of his eyes and followed Loki to stand not far from him, although it was difficult to tell which side his loyalties resided. The only thing clear was that both men resented Jane’s presence, while everyone appeared taken by Thrúd. Frigga glared at them with a cool expression, before she continued to fuss with Thrúd and Jane, as she asked:

“Are you okay, my dear?”

A strange silence fell between them. Jane as pale and swayed where she stood, while Thor – afraid he hadn’t noticed her discomfort sooner – quickly lifted Thrúd from her arms while Frigga escorted her to a nearby chair. The way her eyes struggled to focus, spoke volumes of something that was clearly amiss. Jane brought a hand to her head and feigned a smile, while she struggled to gulp down enough air to stay upright, before finally uttering:

“I’m just a little under the weather.”

“All the more reason why Thrúd should stay here,” called Odin. “Even if Jane lives the full lifespan of her people, there is every risk of injury or illness that may consume her sooner, and what good will it for to Thrúd to endure such a transition from Midgard to Asgard? It would be kinder to allow her to remain here. Let us not take such risks.”

“Isn’t that reason enough to cherish every second I have left?” Jane pleaded. “You know what it’s like to be a parent, and – for all your _obvious_ faults – I can see how much you love Thor and Loki . . . would you have left them as children, for any reason at all?”

“I would not,” admitted Odin. “I have never once left their sides.”

“That’s what I feel for Thrúd! I know it’s what Thor will feel for her, too, which is why I’m totally open to some form of joint custody . . . maybe a few months each year here, as Thor suggested three months here and nine months with me, but you have to realise how _heartbreakingly_ difficult even the idea of a few months is for me. It’s – It’s a lot.”

“Father, this may be the only child I have,” confessed Thor. “Loki and I have yet to decide how we wish to proceed on the issue of an heir, but even if we do decide to have more children . . . Thrúd is my firstborn! I wish for as long with Thrúd as Jane can abide, as every second without her is an absence I feel like a knife in my side, and that is why I could not deny Jane access to our child. I know that pain of being parted.”

Jane stood and walked towards Odin, but a few steps were all she managed. Frigga caught her and guided her back to the chair, whispering words about how they should call for Eir, but Jane shrugged her off with a feigned smile and lame excuses. Thrúd stirred from the impossible nap, as tiny hands reached toward Jane with opening and closing fists, enough that Jane laughed and reached back for her in turn, and soon the colour returned to Jane’s cheeks as the dizzy spell passed. Thor placed Thrúd in her arms with a nervous smile.

The sudden silence was uncomfortable, broken only by Jane singing songs that were alien to Thor and strange to his ears, while Thrúd closed her eyes with a wide yawn, and soon he let out a low laugh to see her fall into a deep sleep. Frigga sat beside Jane, while Odin grunted not far from Loki and stepped out from the shadows to take centre stage in the infirmary, while Loki lingered not more than a few steps behind him. Odin said coldly to Thor:

“I will discuss the issue of an heir with you later.”

“That is an issue for Loki and me.”

“No,” answered Odin. “Loki must provide an heir, if we wish to avoid war. You forget that he is a prince of Jotunheim and an heir to Laufey, but perhaps this child is a distraction for you . . . I know that you have new priorities now, but your main priority must always be Loki and your potential child together. Do not worry about Thrúd, Thor.”

“He means not to forget that she is the _eldest_ ,” muttered Loki. “The Jotuns may get to pick their heirs, but here Thrúd is practically guaranteed the throne as your firstborn. It is a shame. After all . . . I would have made a _far_ better king than you, Thor.”

“Yes, but only _I_ was worthy,” teased Thor.

Thor lifted his arm and flexed his bicep. He placed a kiss to the muscle with exaggerated pride, while Loki rolled his eyes with a smirk, and yet – as the moment passed – he caught the genuine fear that lingered on Loki’s expression. The question of an heir still remained unanswered . . . the Jotuns could pick any child as heir, so long as they were of direct blood, but Thrúd would almost certainly remain heir of Asgard as his eldest child . . . 

Not only that, but Thor would forever be tied to Jane. Thor winced and caught how Loki paled, still refusing to look in Jane’s general direction, and his smile soon faded into a frown, as his lips pouted and his eyes narrowed. Loki began to walk away. Frigga continued to fuss over Jane and Thrúd, while Odin distracted himself with a few stray medical reports, and the healers remained locked away in the offices just beyond. No one appeared to notice as Loki clung to the shadows, swinging one leg before the other, until he was almost out of sight.

“Loki, wait,” Thor called. “I wish to say something!”

Loki spun around with a roll of his eyes. He folded his arms across his chest, while he cocked his head to the side and strove to ignore how Odin now stood at full attention, and – as Thor blushed and gnawed at his lips – he knew any words spoken to Loki would essentially be spoken to the entire room. Loki refused to step out from behind the pillars, staying ever cast in darkness even as he hissed and waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. Thor nearly whispered the words ‘ _it’s nothing’_ , as he caught Odin’s hard eye, but then Loki asked:

“What do you want, Thor?”

“I need you to know that Jane is just a friend,” said Thor. “I respect Jane as the mother of my daughter, just as I respect her as a person, but I do not _love_ Jane and I never shall love Jane. I do not know what you fear, but Jane is married to another. If you have any concerns, I would beg and pray that you tell me, Loki. I would do whatever I could to assuage them.”

“You loved her once. You have her child. You –”

“Loki, what matters is what I feel now.” Thor swallowed hard. “If I must make a public declaration, let it be so and damn what follows! _I love you, Loki_. I loved you before our wedding, when our love was illegal and immoral and a constant risk. I loved you during your disownment, as you were still the brother I loved and the man I adored. I love you now, even as you make things so hard and constantly provoke me. I will _always_ love you.”

Loki blushed a deep shade of red. He pursed his lips and his nostrils flared, while his entire body leaned forward as if on the verge of storming forward, and – for a few seconds – Thor’s stomach churned and rolled as he feared having crossed too many lines. Loki soon relaxed and shook his head with a sigh. Thor opened his mouth to apologise, but Loki crossed the floor of the infirmary and stood a few inches from Thor. He leaned in close. Thor caught the sensation of warm breath on his lips and smiled in anticipation of a kiss . . .   

“Foolish sentimentality,” teased Loki.

Thor swallowed hard, as leaned a little closer out of instinct, but – with a playful laugh – Loki lightly slapped his cheek and pushed him away, before he shook his head and walked out of the infirmary with long strides and without a further word. Thor smiled despite his frustration, but the smile was soon broken by a loud throat-clearing from Odin. A cold sweat broke over his skin. Thor bit into his lip until he tasted iron, as Odin asked in a low voice:

“This is what you deem a good influence on Thrúd?”

“You were the one to disown Loki,” whispered Thor. “Even were he still my brother by law, I could care less for the incestuous stigma! We kept our union secret as we were worried about the consequences . . . worried you might love us less . . . you would expect us to bear forth an heir and yet insist in the same breath _that_ is not an incestuous act?”

“Let us discuss this later, my son. We must first work out a formal contract regarding custody of Thrúd, as I am concerned three months each year will cause trauma to the child. No sooner has she gotten used to one family and home, she will be transported to another.”

“That was my concern, too,” admitted Jane. “But I didn’t know –”

“Indeed, there is much we must discuss.”

Odin refused to look toward Jane. The curl to his lip spoke of great shame and disgust, while his eyes locked on Thor with a terrifying intensity, and – as he stood alone and quiet centre of the room – he soon pushed himself away and marched toward the infirmary doors. Thor flinched as the doors slammed shut after him, leaving him without either father or brother, and he reluctantly headed back toward Jane with a feigned smile.

Frigga came toward to him, so as to offer a warm embrace. He held tight to her and remembered that – even if the world viewed their relationship as immoral – they would always have the support of Frigga, but a lingering worry remained heavy in his chest. Thor kept throwing glances towards the main doors, as his heart raced and he awaited the return of Odin, but no one came . . . he let out a low exhale of breath, as he ran his hand through his hair. Jane bounced Thrúd with a nervous smile, as she broke the tension with:

“I’m kind of glad now I’m an only child.”

Thor could not help it. He laughed.  


	10. Chapter 10

Odin paced back and forth.

He struggled to control his heart-rate, as every beat pounded in his ears. The lounge was warmed by the sun outside, while the billowing curtains – caught in the breeze – sent strange shadows about the tiled floor with increasingly intricate patterns. A warm scent of freshly baked breads emanated from the table, along with mulled wine brought by the servants, and the various sensations provided a small comfort as the carried with them old memories.

Odin half-smiled as he remembered how Loki would always try to sneak wine from the table, desperate to seem more adult like his parents, and how Thor would snatch the bread and run to the balcony, where he would throw small pieces to the ravens. The smile was short-lived, as he heard he doors to the lounge creak open. He turned with a frown. Thor dressed in semi-formal attire, with head kept low and hands clenched into fists, and his clothing was almost perfect save for a spit-up stain on one shoulder and a dirty handprint on his chest.

Thor said nothing, even as he wandered over to the sofas. He fell onto the closest one with a loud huff of breath, while he reached out for the bread and tore off chunks with little thought to grace, and he ate at the bread while still avoiding Odin’s eye. Odin bit into the inside of his cheek, as he cast his gaze away with a scrunch of his eyes, and – drawing in a deep breath – he looked back to Thor and let out a long sigh, as he said in a quiet voice:

“Have you sent away that mortal?”

Thor took a bite of bread. The silence was long and uncomfortable, although more common lately in their relationship than before his exile to Midgard, and Odin fought back the urge to chastise him, as he smiled and walked towards the sofas. He took long and slow strides, as he clasped his hands behind his back and kept his head held high. Odin sat opposite Thor; he parted his legs and tented his hands between them, while he cast an eye over Thor in an attempt to judge his mood and openness to discussion. There was exhaustion in his eyes.

“Jane has returned to Earth,” said Thor. “For _now_.”

“For now?” Odin asked. “You mean for her to return?”

“Thrúd will stay with us for the next few months. I wished to make up for lost time, as such I could not wait to have my child in my life, but – after these few months pass – we will alternate in our custody of Thrúd. It is only natural Jane will make visits.”

“I hope these visits will be minimal,” said Odin. “I will understand the need of a mother to make these transitions easier upon her child, but a few days – _at most_ – should be enough for my granddaughter to settle into her role as princess of this realm. Your mother shall be most pleased that Thrúd shall remain with us for some time . . . she seemed quite taken.”

“I could say the same about Loki, Father.”

Odin winced. The line about his face deepened, aging him past his years, and a bone-deep weariness overcame him until joints ached and muscles stung. Thor bore a stern expression, even as he locked eyes with Odin and leaned forward, and Odin let out a hiss of breath to see how Thor appeared so dedicated to the idea of Loki as a ‘spouse’. He allowed his nostrils to flare and flushed red, while he reached for a glass of wine in an attempt to distract from the tension between them, even as Thor finally broke his stare with a scoff. Odin said:

“I do not approve this union between you, Thor.”

The silence returned once more. Odin listened to every rustle of fabric from the curtains, along with every hiss of breath from Thor, but – with a loud slam – Thor tossed the remainder of his bread onto the serving plate and threw himself backward. Two muscled arms rested on the back of the sofa. Thor appeared to own the space, as he reclined regal and strong, until his smirk turned into a cold glare and he leaned forward. One hand rested on his knee, while his other raised high to point an accusatory finger at Odin, as he spat:

“You were the one to _arrange_ the marriage!”

“Aye, to save my son’s life,” chided Odin. “I made clear that it was intended as a marriage of convenience, nothing more. It was required that Loki be disowned in order to clear any obstacle to Helblindi’s claim on an heir, a necessity to avoid war, but to disown Loki also allowed Helblindi to claim _Loki_ as a citizen of Jotunheim. We both know that a consort cannot be parted from their spouse, while citizenship is granted to said consort . . .

“Your marriage was to keep Loki a part of our family. He is my _son_ , Thor, but now you have taken those last few steps into an incestuous union -? He may as well be simply a son-in-law, one borne of another to take place at my son’s side. This is hard for me to digest. I loved Loki more dearly than I can express, but now I am distanced from him . . . _father-in-law_!”

“You knew – _you knew_ – we would have to provide an heir,” said Thor.

“I assumed that you would find a surrogate for Loki.” Odin winced and shook his head. “Artificial insemination would have worked the same, should we not have found a loophole or convinced Helblindi to relinquish his claim to an heir, but now we have no choice but to push forward and proceed to bring forth a child into this charade of a marriage. Your actions with Jane have forced Loki to provide a biological child, Thor. We cannot deny this.”

Thor slunk back into his seat, where he ran a hand over his face. The bags under his eyes betrayed a tiredness borne from hours spent with his child, which – after less than a day – did not bode well for a future in fatherhood, and Odin pursed his lips in memory of sleepless nights and days spent in continuous play. Thor gazed at the ceiling. The blue eyes looked almost glassy, while he gnawed at his lips and flexed his fingers in a strange rhythm, until he dropped forward and buried his face into his hands, before he mumbled out:

“I cannot force Loki to provide an heir.”

“Loki still is against the idea of another child,” observed Odin.

Thor said nothing. Odin stood and walked over to the balcony, where two ravens sat pecking at stray scraps on the familiar marble, and – far beyond – he caught the sight of the Bifrost letting loose a bright light that would mark Sif’s arrival from her return of Jane. The world around them carried on, while the lights glittered on the landscape of thousands of people at work and leisure, and the wind blew an array of petals and leaves onto the balcony.

He closed his eyes and allowed the breeze to bring further comfort, even as loud footsteps echoed behind him and Thor came to stand at his side, and soon he saw how Thor hunched forward with forearms pressed to the railing with head hung low. Odin lightly slapped at the marble with his hands, as he took in low and deep breaths in his desire to fight back the growing anxiety, even as bile rose to the back of his throat and burned at his mouth, and he swallowed hard as he found the courage to ask after his youngest son. Odin whispered:

“What are his concerns, Thor?”

“He fears he will be unable to love a part-Jotun child,” admitted Thor. “He fears he will love Thrúd more, thus punishing our child for genetics beyond their control, and – more than that – he fears repeating your mistakes. You must admit that open communication is not our family’s forte, as such Loki has legitimate concerns, but there are other problems, too.”

“What other problems?”

“There is the stigma of being ‘ _ergi_ ’, Father. I do not wish to embarrass either of us, but Loki and I have resolved this over the years . . . we first abstained from all penetrative intercourse, but lately I have been the one to receive in our relationship. It is an arrangement that suits us both, but if he is to bear a child . . . people will _know_ he has received. We cannot hide that.

“He fears that people will judge him for that one act.” Thor winced and shook his head. “The strange thing is that I think his fears unfounded, as he will be a great father and a respected man, and I see this when he refuses to use a surrogate. He questions how we shall know whether they take risks, whether they will eat the wrong foods, whether they will neglect to take any tests. Still, he claims not to wish for a child at all. I cannot force one on him.”

“The act of insemination would solve these issues,” said Odin.

“Our people would still believe that he received,” replied Thor. “Even if they do not, the fact he was _willing_ to carry a child would make them think he was willing to receive and perhaps does receive, which will cloud their judgement of him. It also does not solve his fears of becoming the monster he believes himself to be, ruining our child’s life in the process.”

A cold sweat washed over Odin. He shuddered and screwed shut his eyes, until the lines at the corners deepened almost black, and he thought back to lessons taught to Loki and societal prejudices parroted without thought . . . Loki appeared to internalise more than he ever intended, but it was perhaps too late to undo the damage. Odin finally opened his eyes, blinking away a tear from the one exposed. He looked down to his hands, wrinkled and callused over time and with a few age spots that appeared to grow each day. Odin asked:

“Do you think he could come to love a child?”

“I think it matters not what I think, but what he thinks,” admitted Thor.

“What matters more are _actions_.” Odin flinched with a watery eye. “We cannot put off the issue of an heir any longer; Helblindi will likely know by now of Thrúd, which he will see as an insult when he is still owed an heir, and he will question our priorities on the matter. He will demand that we speed up the process and provide him with what he desires. We cannot risk war, Thor. Helblindi is in the right and the Nine Realms shall side with him.”

“I will accept that a second child would prevent war,” conceded Thor. “I simply cannot force Loki to provide a child that would cause him such trauma in the process! I seek to prevent a loss of life at all costs, both Jotun and Asgardian, but to coerce Loki into –”

“I do not expect you to pressure Loki. I expect you to make clear to him that _any_ attempt to subvert what is expected of him will lead to his imprisonment . . . I hate to remind you, Thor, but Loki was imprisoned for his attempted genocide and lack of remorse for his actions, while his release was conditional on his house-arrest and creation of an heir. If he decides to let war wage than to keep his word, he must be punished for his actions. That is all.”

“You would _imprison_ Loki for choosing not to conceive?”

“What is the alternative, my son?”

Thor pushed away from the railing; he paced back and forth with heavy steps, shaking his head and curling his lips, until – with a loud roar – he marched back into the room and grabbed an antique vase with both hands. Odin flinched as the vase smashed against a far wall. The sound of tickling pieces of pottery clattered to the floor, as Thor slumped against a wall and buried his head into his hands, and Odin turned to see the scattered pieces of porcelain glistening in the sunlight. He bit into his tongue until he tasted blood.

Every instinct told him to take back such a threat. He could not imprison Loki for refusing to bear forth an heir, but any lesser threat would result in potential war . . . Odin walked back into the lounge, where Thor sat slumped on the floor with hands on his knees, and offered his hand to Thor who slapped him away with a cold snarl. Odin held his tongue and crossed his arms, as he stood tall and ignored how his heart raced. He said in a low voice:

“I have no other choice.”

“Do not do this,” begged Thor. “Do not force Loki to conceive!”

“If I annul this marriage, Loki would be taken to Jotunheim. If I allow you to forgo an heir, I would be courting a war we will not win without great cost. No, I cannot let Loki be _taken_ from us and I cannot allow Loki to _damn_ us. He is my son, but these are my people. You will go to Loki and make certain he knows that there is no choice in this matter.”

“And if he refuses? What then? Am I to _rape_ him?”

“He will be imprisoned,” said Odin. “He will be denied all visitors, which include that of you and your mother, and he will rot in the dungeons until either the war ends or he changes his mind upon a rather simple matter. If not, he has the choice to return to Jotunheim.”

Thor clenched his fists and stared darkly ahead. Odin said nothing further, as he walked back to the sofas and sat down, and – taking one of the loaves in hand – he pulled off chunks of bread much as Thor had done earlier, as he sought for some form of distraction. The threat may have been empty, but he could not risk Thor seeing his expression and making such a realisation, as the safety of their entire realm lay in Loki’s choice to procreate.

“This is tantamount to rape,” spat Thor.

There followed creaks of informal armour, along with a rustle of a cape, as Thor stood and marched over to the table, where he slammed down a foot so close to the leg that the contents rattled, and wine spilled over the edges of the glasses. Odin said nothing, but simply continued to eat as he waited for Thor to express his anger until he finally calmed. It was a long wait. Thor flushed a bright shade of red, as his blonde locks fell forward to curtain about his face, and he returned with that pointed finger that was aimed directly at Odin.

“You would deny him a basic choice about his own reproduction!”

“Loki knows what is expected from him,” said Odin.

“Did he know when he agreed to this marriage?” Thor laughed. “No, I think not. Loki would rather be executed than to be forced to bear an heir, and – however he found out – he admits he only knew some weeks after our wedding. How can consent be considered ‘consent’ when it is _forced_ from someone against their will? Even if he says ‘yes’, I know he means ‘no’.”

It was a cold truth. The warm bread turned cold in Odin’s wrinkled hands, while he thought back to a lifetime of memories with Frigga . . . _stolen embraces behind swaying tapestries, whispered nothings on cool sheets the morning after, laughter at some minor mishap that almost brought more joy than the act itself . . ._ there were no memories of coercion or pressure. There was nothing to sully millennia of marriage. It was an unbearable thought to think of any union where such a dark event could stain a lifetime. Odin whispered:

“I am sorry, my son.”

Thor scoffed and reached down for the wine. He took a glass and downed the contents, until – with a loud gasp of air – he slammed the glass down until it shattered in his hand, and a few drops of blood fell with the drops of wine. It marred an otherwise perfectly laid table, as Odin grew lightheaded and struggled to hold back his emotion. Thor pursed and played with his lips, as a broken smile overcame him, and he locked eyes with Odin in a cold glare.

“No, you’re not,” spat Thor.

Thor spat at the floor, before he marched away. Odin followed the sounds of his footsteps, watching with vision blurred by a tear, until Thor threw open the lounge door and slammed it hard behind him with enough force to rattle picture frames. He finally allowed a loud sigh to escape his lips, as his thoughts turned to Loki and his eye stung with tears and sweat, and – through it all – he could only bring a hand to his forehead, where he massaged his temples and struggled to hold back an oncoming wave of guilt and shame.

Odin collapsed with hot tears.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains mutual non-con. 
> 
> There is no aggression or violence, but there is trauma of both parties.

Thor swallowed hard.

A burst of arousal coursed through him, as he licked at his lips. He leaned against the doorway, while he slowly removed many layers of clothing, and yet – as he undressed – a cold sweat washed over him and brought shivers across every muscle. The air was warm and provided a small comfort, but there was the heavy aroma of incense in the air. Thor noted the black sheets, the bowl of oil on the stand, and even heard soft music from afar.

Loki lay draped in a green gown. It was thin and loose, enough to accentuate every muscle and every curve, while his black hair hung over his shoulders to tease at his collarbones, and Thor let his eyes trail down . . . _down_ . . . Loki’s legs were bare, while he caught the obvious shape of his half-erect length beneath the silk. He was naked under his robe. Thor struggled to finish undressing; Loki rested his head on his hand, as he slightly arched his back and pulled one leg high in a tiptoe position, and a slither of thigh was more than obvious.

It took all of Thor’s strength to turn down the lights. He stood naked in the bedroom, illuminated only by a handful of candles and the lights from the balcony, and Loki hummed in contentment at the sight and patted the bed beside him. Thor blushed, as if it were their first time all over again, and walked toward the bed. He barely had time to kneel on the side, when Loki grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him onto his front. Loki whispered:

“I thought you might want to unwind.”

Thor groaned, as Loki carefully sat astride his back. The robe parted and curtained their lower halves from sight, while warm genitalia pressed against his lower back, and hands reached out to dip into the bowl of oil with a soft splash. Thor rested his hands on his forearms, while Loki brought oiled hands back to rub at his upper back, where he moved his fingers with such expertise that Thor nearly forgot the reason for his return.

He allowed Loki to work out the knots in his muscles, while Loki slowly slid his hands lower and lower, and soon – with a shift of position – Loki sat astride his legs and worked on his buttocks with an expert touch. Loki let out a long hum, as he massaged the perfect globes until Thor writhed with small hisses of pleasure. A finger traced at his hole. Thor shot out a hand behind him and snatched Loki’s wrist away, and – from the corner of his eyes – he caught how Loki quirked an eyebrow with a long and childish sigh.

“Not tonight,” whispered Thor. “We need to talk.”

“Well, _that_ is new.” Loki smirked. “I’ve never known a conversation between you and Odin not to end in the unnecessary stress of one over the other, and – for the most part – it has always been _me_ that has provided you with the relief you needed. This sounds ominous.”

Loki adjusted his robe and gently lay beside him. He rolled onto his side, so that he could reach out to stroke Thor’s hair, and the touch was so soft and intimate that Thor nuzzled ever closer. They lay close enough that noses touched. Thor closed his eyes and tried to still his racing heart, while tears pricked at his eyes. A cold sweat broke over him, as he realised the intimate and friendly moment between them would soon be broken, and – as he opened his eyes – he saw a look of concern writ over Loki’s expression. Thor said in a broken whisper:

“Father insists on an heir, Loki.”

Loki pulled away. Thor swallowed back the lump that formed in his throat, as he blinked away tears and forced a smile to his trembling lips, and yet Loki appeared less frightened and offended than he expected. He lay almost calm in their bed . . . _almost_. All colour drained from his face, as his lips pursed into a thin white line. Loki gripped a little too hard on Thor’s hair, before he pulled back his hand and let it fall between them, and an awkward silence between them broke Thor’s heart. Thor let his hand fall on Loki’s.

It was cool to the touch, but tense as if he strained every muscle. Thor clasped his hand and rubbed circles on the back with a sad smile, even as he avoided looking into those green eyes, and he bit into his lip as he tried to ignore how Loki refused to hold him back. They lay in silence, while the candles sent flickering shadows over Loki’s face, and soon he sighed and sat upright to remove his gown with harsh gestures. Loki spat at him:

“What _exactly_ did he say?”

“He said that to delay any longer would risk war,” said Thor. “The best case scenario for our refusal would be to place you back within the dungeons, which is an unbearable thought, and yet – worse still – there is the possibility of your return to Jotunheim. A lack of an heir between us could force our relationship to be annulled, which would mean –”

“He is lying, Thor. Do you _really_ think he would imprison me or exile me? Do you _really_ think he would sate Helblindi by returning me to that hellhole? Mother would never forgive him, and you would be alienated from him and abdicate your role as prince . . . he stands to lose far too much by such actions. He is merely making such threats under the assumption you will believe him capable of such actions, with the hope you will persuade me.

“I think he knows you would not force me, but he knows you would not allow any harm to befall me, especially now you have revealed our romantic relationship, and he will expect you to spend hours upon hours convincing me to bear forth an heir. I would consent. He would get an heir for Jotunheim, sating Helblindi, and preventing war.”

“Helblindi could not have asked for a far greater punishment.” Thor winced. “Do you think he foresaw this event? He pushed so hard for us to be married, claiming it would give you security, but if we force ourselves to bear this child . . . will that break us?”

“It would break _me_. That much is certain.”

Loki hunched forward. The robe was dropped onto the floor beside the bed, while his naked form sat next to Thor without a shred of embarrassment, and he buried his head into his hands as he rested his elbows onto his knees. He sat cross-legged, unable to look Thor in the eye. It brought a small wince from Thor, as he sat upright and moved behind Loki, and – parting his legs – he hugged Loki against him and wrapped his arms around his waist.

It was an intimate position. Thor leaned his head on a warm shoulder, before he buried his head into black hair and breathed deep a rich scent of luxury soaps, and he felt every tremble from Loki as Loki struggled to breathe through his panic. A heavy sweat broke over Loki’s skin, while every breath was hissed and shallow. Thor closed his eyes. The world around them stood still, as a cool breeze blew from the open doorway and extinguished the candles, and soon Loki licked at his lips and threw back his head. Thor asked in a quiet voice:

“Do you think that this is Helblindi’s revenge?”

Loki scoffed and reached a hand behind him, so that he could bury it into Thor’s hair, and the strong grip kept his head low enough that Thor struggled to look up, which meant that the inevitable tears that fell over Loki’s face would remain unseen. Thor pretended that he did not know Loki’s reasons for holding onto him, even as he kissed chastely on that pale column of neck. Every beat of his heart felt deafening to his ears, enough that it drowned out the music from the open balcony, as a band continued to play in a distant room. Loki whispered:

“Do you want a son, Thor?”

Loki pulled back enough to smile at Thor. The tears down his cheeks left visible tracks, while his eyes shimmered even through the darkness, and he gently pushed Thor back down onto the bed, before Loki slid against him and placed his head on a muscled chest. Thor knew he could hear the racing of his heart, while he likely felt the heavy sweat and sensed every shiver from Thor, and Thor could only pull him into a tight embrace, as he said in a low voice:

“I will confess, I thought about forcing matters.”

“You thought about raping me?”

“It was for only a few seconds.” Thor blinked away his tears. “How can we claim _this_ is a consensual act, Loki? We have a choice between a child, which we’re not yet ready to raise, and a war that could result in the deaths of thousands over all realms. That is the choice we bear as princes, but what about our choices as men? I could not see you suffer.”

“You would have merely exchanged two forms of punishment,” chided Loki. “If I were to suffer being cast away to Jotunheim, assuming you _believe_ our father’s threats, then I would also suffer your betrayal and being forced against my will. It is a ‘lose-lose’ scenario.”

“That is part of why I decided against it,” confessed Thor.

“No, you decided against it as you cannot bear to see me in pain. You lost an erection one time simply as I appeared distracted; you feared you were pressuring me into sexual acts, and as such you would be unable to endure any true force. If you think about it, you would have needed to apply great violence. I would have used the power of illusion to try and escape, but you would have seen through that, perhaps using Mjölnir to keep me in place, and –”

“I am not discussing this, Loki! The idea is repulsive and wrong, and I am ashamed it even passed my mind, but you must know . . . _I cannot lose you_! If I am honest, we already effectively have one child between us. Thrúd currently rests with our parents, but soon she will have an attached nursery, and one more child would not make a great difference.”

“Thrúd was born of lust and love, Thor, but this child . . .”

Thor winced and held Loki ever closer. They entwined their legs, as Loki let his fingers trace light patterns around his pectoral muscles, and Thor could not deny that – even if he were not _in love_ with Jane – that great affection and desire went into the concept of Thrúd. He wondered what would be said if their son asked about his conception, just as he wondered what it would be like to raise a son neither was ready to raise, and he tensed underneath Loki and forced a trembling smile to overtake his lips. Thor asked with a forced chipper tone:

“We love each other, do we not?”

“That does not mean any act between us is automatically an act of love,” muttered Loki. “You must know your friends think you foolish to trust me. _They are right_. I love you more than anything, Thor, but I would do anything to free myself from these shackles, and I would not risk war when our friends and family are already so sceptical of me.”

“You would honestly bear forth a child _just_ to secure your freedom? Loki, you fear enough becoming our father and playing favourites with Thrúd, so you really expect that a child _forced_ on you without your real consent would make that relationship any easier?”

“That is not a discussion I with to have, Thor.”

“No, but it’s a pertinent one.”

Loki let out a cold huff of breath, before he rolled onto his back. He rested his head on Thor’s extended arm, but stared hard at the ceiling with legs crossed at the ankles and arms folded across his chest, and – evidently – he was in no mood to talk about his feelings towards their potential child. Thor rolled onto his side, so he could observe that trembling lip and narrowing of those eyes, but Loki said nothing to betray his emotions or motivations, even as the silence continued far longer than was comfortable. Thor asked with a sigh:

“How will you endure the _ergi_ stigma, too?”

“Thor, what would the people prefer? Will _you_ be the one to tell them that I had chosen outright war over personal humiliation? Even if Odin Allfather does not exile me or imprison me, we both know that Helblindi _will_ declare war on us.”

“You care now about potential deaths?”

“I care about _our people’s_ deaths, yes.” Loki pursed his lips with a sigh. “No, I did not care about Jotun deaths, but now they have the Casket -? They provide a threat, especially with the other realms siding alongside them, and Asgard has been a force of peace for millennia, so to court war now would be to undo years of diplomacy and peace treaties.”

“I sometimes fear if you had stayed king,” teased Thor. “I can picture you reclining in a robe, as servants feed you grapes and sing songs in your praise, and our realm would be run to absolute perfection, even as all others fall into complete chaos.”

“The other realms are not my priority.”

A strong breeze blustered through their rooms, until – with a wave of his hand – Loki used his _seiðr_ to close the balcony doors. It cast them into total darkness. Thor drew in a deep breath and let out a long sigh, as he opened his mouth to chastise Loki with cold words, but every complaint was stopped dead with a single touch. He arched his back with a hiss. Loki pressed his hand to Thor’s chest, as he rolled onto his side to face him, and lightly worked on Thor’s nipple until it hardened and brought shivers of arousal from him. Loki whispered:

“Father will not leave us be, Thor.”

Thor strove to ignore Loki’s touch. He licked his lips as kisses were placed to his collarbone, while sharp teeth nipped and nibbled at the muscle, and soon Loki suckled to draw light bruises to his skin, which were rarely placed and only delivered as a mark of possession. Thor buried his hand into Loki’s hair, as he massaged his scalp and started to pant for breath, but Loki simply murmured an incoherent sound and continued his attempts at arousal.

“Loki,” murmured Thor. “This is not his choice.”

“No, it is _our_ choice,” whispered Loki. “You wish for me to remain with you. I wish to avoid a war that only be a drastic inconvenience. Let us worry about all else later, Thor. If we can tell Helblindi that an heir may have been conceived, at least we then have time to address the issues of how I shall endure this stigma and how we shall raise this creature.”

Thor let out a broken laugh . . . _‘this creature’_. He pushed Loki onto his back, while moving back enough to leave a good foot of space between them, and curled his lip as he looked over Loki’s form with a cold eye. There was no sign of arousal, as his member lay limp between his legs under a thatch of black hair. Thor struggled to see through the darkness. He struggled to hold back the bile that burned the back of his throat, as his heart pounded painfully in his chest, and his breathing grew fast and shallow as he ran his hands over his face.

“ _That_ is my biggest concern,” spat Thor. “You still hate yourself for your Jotun side! If you think of our future son as a parasite, simply because he has Jotun blood, you _will_ become our father and you _will_ make him suffer! Do you not remember the stories he told us? Do you not remember how he called the Jotun ‘monsters’? You would do that, too?”

“There is every chance our son will look Asgardian,” muttered Loki. “In any case, would you not rather have a child we may _potentially_ struggle to raise over the _certainty_ of many deaths once Helblindi wages war? Your father is correct, Thor. We cannot be selfish.”

“Your freedom means this much to you? Our realm means this much?”

“How hard can such a sacrifice be?”

Thor laughed despite the situation. He pulled back his hands and let them fall to his side, while he turned his head in an attempt to see Loki, but – even through the darkness – he could see the tears on his cheeks each time what little light caught the moisture. Thor struggled to hold back tears in turn, as he saw how Loki paled and used the darkness to hide him fear and resignation. They lay side-by-side. Loki was warm beside him, even as he caught distinct sounds of barely hidden sobs, and Thor shook his head with another laugh.

“You lie, Loki,” said Thor. “You don’t want this.”

“I am _telling_ you that I want this.”

Loki was immediately astride him. Two hands pressed down against his chest, where long fingers toyed with his nipples and plump lips left bruises to his neck, and – with low and faked moans – Loki purposely pushed his buttocks against Thor’s member. The friction and warmth did little at first, as Thor lay still and lifeless, but soon Loki’s hands wandered and his lips were pressed against his, and Thor slowly grew half-hard from stimulation.

Thor bit his lip and let his fingers roam, even as Loki deepened his kiss. There was a faint taste of honey and milk, while Loki dominated the kiss and explored his mouth in earnest, and soon Thor was left almost breathless. He trailed his hands over Loki’s smooth skin and the lines of his spine, before he reached the two large buttocks and squeezed tight enough that his nails left faint lines at the cleft. Loki broke the kiss to give a long sigh, as Thor chanced the momentary pleasure to dip his finger between two cheeks to tease his hole.

“If you want this, Loki, why haven’t you self-lubricated?”

Loki let out a long huff of breath. Thor winced, as his hand was slapped away, and strained to see through the dark as Loki reached for the bowl of oil. A sloppy and wet sound followed, before Thor gasped at the sensation of cold droplets on his skin, and soon Loki leaned forward until foreheads touched, while he appeared to apply the oil to his behind with a great deal of preparation. Thor groaned. A part of him longed to watch as Loki stretched himself, but he could already feel a tear fall onto his cheek from above. He cried in turn.

It was difficult to endure such a mixture of arousal and shame, especially when oil dripped from Loki’s hand and onto his thighs and groin, and the constant reminder of what was to come proved too much to bear. He listened to the heavy grunts and loud hisses, while afraid that Loki would not stretch enough or might forget to search for his prostate, but soon Loki finished and placed both hands on Thor’s chest. He massaged with the oil and asked:

“How is it you know about the self-lubrication?”

“I noticed it from our first time,” whispered Thor. “We were teenagers. We were fooling around when I grasped your buttocks and my finger slid between, and – lo and behold – you were soaking wet. I assumed it natural to all men, until I grew older and more knowledgeable, but by then I had no means to ask without outing us as a couple.”

“It all made sense once I realised my heritage.” Loki flushed red. “Still, I – I _do_ want this, else I wouldn’t have prepared our rooms for a night of love-making, but it is simply . . . I did not expect for me to be on the receiving end. We are new to penetrative sex, and –”

“You are not ready. That is okay, Loki. We can stop.”

Loki rolled his eyes with a sigh. Thor opened his mouth to speak, but was soon cut short. He threw back his head and let out a loud moan, as Loki’s oiled hand shot down to take a hold of his member, and – gasping for breath, as he gripped at the black sheets – he grew harder with every upward stroke and dip to his slit. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He longed for so many years to know what it felt like inside Loki, but not like this . . . Thor pursed his lips and swallowed back his arousal, as Loki slicked his length with oil and positioned himself.

“We are not ready, Loki, and –”

“Thor, I am going to ask you to be quiet.” Loki blinked away tears. “If you keep discussing how much _I_ don’t want this, I will begin to think _you_ don’t want this, and then I shall lose any arousal that I somehow manage to achieve. Let us not argue.”

“You do not want this, Loki,” whispered Thor.

“Neither do you,” replied Loki.

Loki gently lowered his body. Thor cried out in intense pleasure, as he threw his hands to his mouth and attempted to stifle his cries, and yet – as he panted for breath – Loki only sank lower and lower until his plump buttocks pressed against blond pubic hair. They remained still for a long for seconds, as Loki returned his hand to Thor’s chest and ran light circles across the muscles with choked sobs. The sound was almost enough for Thor to soften, until Loki clenched his inner muscles and nibbled at his ear. Thor gasped out:

“I love you, Loki.”

“I will ask only two things of you, Thor.” A tear fell down Loki’s cheek. “Do not let go of my hand and do not look away from my eyes. If we are both to endure this violation, I would rather endure this together, and let me not forget myself, Brother.”

The term sparked an instant shot of arousal. Thor instinctively thrust his hips upward, knocking Loki off-balance until both his hands fell on either side of Thor’s head, and – as both gasped for breath – he looked up to see a conflicted face just inches from him. They shared in a long and intimate gaze; Thor searched for Loki’s hands, until fingers entwined and both gripped with enough strength to leave bruises. Neither dared move.

It was a minute that stretched into eternity, as both locked eyes through the darkness. A part of Thor desired to look away, desperate to avoid seeing the tears that marred the green irises, but Loki – forcing a broken smile – squeezed ever harder onto his hands and moved. Loki mimicked Thor’s movements from his few months having received during intercourse, each time rolling his hips and contracting his inner walls, while placing lazy kisses to Thor’s lips between every gasp and sigh and choked sob. Thor tried to kiss back, as lips trembled.

The kiss was soon stopped. Neither could find the energy to continue, even as Loki thrust harder and faster in an attempt to speed things along, and – while Thor maintained arousal – the act seemed to last far longer than usual . . . Loki only half-hard, Thor constantly fighting a softening member any time Loki cried . . . the pleasure built against his will. It was tight inside, far tighter than any woman, but also far hotter. Thor gasped out:

“Do you want me to touch you?”

Loki held tighter to his hands, while he pressed his lips into a tight line. It was difficult to see through the pitch black, but he appeared conflicted as his face contorted and eyes scrunched shut, and Thor – gently placing kisses to hard lips – struggled to slow his heartbeat. The pulsing sound echoed loudly in his ears, as he instinctively bucked upward into Loki, even as he fought every urge to look away and stop before completion. Every inch of his skin tingled and burned, as his toes curled and back arched. Loki whispered:

“I – I don’t need to come, Thor.”

Thor raised his head through panting breaths. He looked between them, but struggled to see through the absolute darkness, and – as his eyes strained – he felt a limp and soft member against his tensing stomach and realised that the pressure on his hands never lessened or increased for all the time. The squelches of lubrication echoed about their room, along with the familiar sound of skin-on-skin slaps that pained his ears, but . . . Loki was not aroused.

Loki clenched around him. Thor dropped his head back onto the pillows and cried out once more, as he realised Loki purposely sought to arouse him to maintain the erection, but – already so close to the edge – Thor endured the tears that streamed down the sides of his face, where they were lost into his hairline. The pleasure built inside him, with familiar tingles and throbs, while he locked eyes with Loki and held tighter to those warm hands, and he knew there was only limited time . . . only so long for Loki to change his mind . . .

“I – I’m – I’m close, Loki. _I’m close_!”

Thor flipped them over, while keeping fingers intertwined. Loki let out a loud gasp and wrapped his legs around Thor’s waist, digging his heels just underneath his buttocks, and – we Thor pounded in earnest – he whispered small words to Loki . . . _‘tell me to stop’, ‘there’s still time’, ‘I love you’ . . ._ soon Loki’s name escaped his lips like a mantra. He could stand no more, as the constant slaps and squelches and sighs deafened his ears, and he could feel every muscle in his body tense. Thor made to pull out and come outside, but Loki cried out:

“Don’t pull out! Come inside, Thor!”

A loud scream escaped his lips. It tore at his throat, sore and painful, as he hand tight enough onto Loki’s hands that he feared crushing his knuckles, and – with several last thrusts – came long and hard inside him, while overwhelming pleasure coursed through him. He arched his back. He threw back his head. A few last shudders were all it took for the orgasm to make way to harsh reality, as the cold afterglow merged with feelings of shame and sickness.

Thor slowly slid out, drawing a hiss from Loki. He collapsed beside him with heavy gasps of air, as cool sheets clung to his skin and stuck awkwardly to his muscles, and – as he struggled to catch his breath – Loki immediately climbed from the bed. Loki stumbled at first, forced to grab onto a bedside table for support. A loud squeal escaped his lips. Thor knew that pain all too well from their first time, enough that he wished he had warned Loki to relax his muscles and push out against him, but the damage was done and Thor could not bear to look.

He rolled onto his back and kicked the sheets up high, so that he could bring them to his chin to hide his body from sight, and – as he strove to remain as covered as possible – he listened as Loki snatched his robe from the floor and carefully slid back into the garment. Loki pattered over to the wash-basin across the room, while Thor caught the sounds of dripping water and a cloth being slid over parts of his body. Thor asked in a broken voice:

“Did you feel any arousal?”

Loki wrung out the cloth over the basin. The tinkle of water almost made Thor jealous, as the sheets stuck to his sweat and a horrible sensation of ‘contamination’ ran over him, and – no matter how he moved or positioned himself – there came a terrible urge to scratch at his skin and rub it until it was cleansed. Loki hummed some empty tune, as his bare feet pattered about the room to eliminate the incense and check on the extinguished candles, and soon he walked away to the bedroom doors and lingered in the doorway with a staggered sigh.

“No,” admitted Loki. “Not for the most part.”

“You felt some pleasure?”

“It was when you started aiming for my spot.” Loki let out a broken laugh. “I may have enjoyed it had we both wanted this, but . . . I feel _dirty_ , Thor. It is one thing to do what is expected of us, but to _enjoy_ such an act -? What does that make me, Thor? What does it make me to enjoy such a violation? I – I did not enjoy such violation . . . I did not . . .”

“Loki, this is not what I wanted for us either. I – I can tell you that penetrative sex brings about involuntary reactions . . . the first few times you took me, I was in immense discomfort at times and yet . . . I was aroused and in pain all at once. It is natural.”

“H-How long have we been intimate in such a way, Thor?”

“Why do you ask such a question?” Thor asked.

“Five months,” said Loki. “ _Five months_! In all that time you were aroused and wanted to be penetrated, and – after a while – we experimented with what worked and what didn’t, until you learned to take all of me without complaint. We both _loved_ every second, even laughing when things did not work and taking time when we struggled, but this . . . this . . .”

Loki slammed a fist against the doorframe. Thor winced and sat upright in bed, as he fought an urge to go to Loki’s side, and – as his heart raced – he heard a low hiss of breath and a barely concealed curse, as some plaster crumbled down onto the floor. There would likely be blood on white knuckles, while the injury would be hidden with illusions and pockets, and Thor swallowed hard as bile rose to the back of his throat and his body trembled.

He struggled to climb out of bed, as he wrapped the sheets around his waist and tied them off, and – with heavy footsteps – he slunk over to the doorway and pressed his hands to Loki’s shoulders, only to feel Loki tense and draw in a heavy breath. Thor massaged his shoulders with a trembling smile, as sweat and tears stung his eyes to the point they would not open, and he pressed a wet kiss to the long column of neck. The scent of sex was heavy in the air, untouched by the incense. Thor fought to compose himself, as he reassured:

“We do not need to do this again.”

“The object is to produce an heir, Thor,” spat Loki.

“Let us wait a month or two.” Thor swallowed back his tears. “If you have not shown any signs of conception, we will use insemination instead of a natural method. We shouldn’t have done this . . . we shouldn’t have to feel guilt or shame over our lovemaking . . . we should –”

“Please, just _shut up_ , Thor.”

Loki pulled away.

Thor allowed his hands to hang in empty air, even as Loki swung a hand to open the balcony doors once more, and – as light streamed into the room – Thor saw the bruises on his knuckles and the bloodshot appearance of his eyes. He stood like a statue, so tense and still, while he took in fast and shallow breaths. Thor allowed him his space. He dropped his hands limply to his sides, while Loki turned away from him and choked out:

“I’m going to take a shower.”

He marched away with great speed. Thor watched as he darted into the _en suite_ , while the door slammed shut behind him, and soon there was the heavy thud of a body against wood, following by the rustle of silk being slid down a smooth surface. The room fell silent, except for Thor’s racing heart and the sound of distant music. Their realm celebrated Thrúd as the new heir, while their parents likely laughed to babysit their new grandchild, and the world spun on even as Thor stumbled over to the bathroom door with a heavy exhaustion.

The wood was cool to the touch, but locked to avoid any entry. Thor fought back a wave of nausea that threatened to bring bile to the back of his mouth, as he hyperventilated in an attempt to control the sickness that rose within him. Inside the bathroom, small choked sobs echoed through tiled walls. Thor collapsed back onto the door. He slid down until he knelt likely on the other side of Loki, both so close and yet so far . . .   

Thor wept to hear him weep.


	12. Chapter 12

“I am worried about Loki.”

Thor paused outside their bedroom. He stood with one hand on the doorknob, which was cool to the touch and provided an object with which to ground himself, and – as he tightened his hand around the metal – he noted how his bloodied knuckles strained white. The air about the palace was warm and humid, so unlike Vanaheim that endured raging blizzards and deathly drops in temperatures, and he struggled to adjust to the new climes.

The sweat on his body forced his clothes to cling to his skin, while a wound across his eyebrow stung and wept, so that every blink brought pain as the iron of blood invaded his sight, and yet he turned to look at Sif. He struggled to see through blurred vision, but she stood regal and confident before him. Thor smiled to see her in casual attire. A leather skirt covered black tights and thigh-high boots, while a red undershirt was visible under partial chest armour, and yet her expression was so dark and so severe. He winced.

Sif allowed her long hair to fall over her shoulder, while she folded her arms across her chest and lifted her head high to lock eyes with him, and – as her nostrils flared – he caught sight of the black bags under her eyes and the paleness of her cheeks. Sif looked tired. He bit and licked at his lips, as his hand gripped ever tighter onto the doorknob, and he struggled to fight back the racing panic of his heart, even as he leaned instinctively towards the door.

“Thor,” said Sif.  “You have been gone nearly a full week.”

Thor hunched his shoulders. A deep ache set into his muscles, as he leaned against the door with hand lingering on the doorknob, and – half-closing his eyes – he rapidly blinked away forming tears with a sad smile. There were a few clinks and clatters from the guards that lined the corridor, as armour moved with every gesture or yawn, but not one word was said even as Thor gazed back to Sif and saw her lips pressed into a white line. A breeze caught at her hair, while she pushed back a stray lock and remained silent. Thor asked in a quiet voice:

“Has Loki not fared well in my absence?”

“I fear not,” confessed Sif. “I know that the Nine Realms require your presence, but the Allfather has asked more and more of you, while Loki has seen you less and less. I did not worry at first, but our queen came to me and asked me to check on Loki. He has been avoiding her, Thor. You have been gone for days, but he will see no one else.”

“I have tried to be here as much as possible.” Thor ran a hand over his face. “The Nine Realms have been in chaos since the Bifrost’s destruction, you must know this? It has only been a week since our consummation, but I will admit I have welcomed the distraction.”

“You fight to distract from your pain,” observed Sif. “What can Loki do?”

“I have been here as much as politics and war will allow!”

Thor thumped a free hand on the doorframe. Hot tears burned at his eyes, while one threatened to fall and forced him to squeeze his eyes shut, and – drawing in a deep breath – he thought to the latest influx of correspondences that came through the Bifrost . . . _requests for aid and resources, invading forces seeking to annex those around them, casualties and deaths from increasing monsters and wildlife_. . . Thor gave a broken smile. The past month started with just one or two issues, but lately in increased to vast amounts.

The cool wood of the door provided a small comfort, even as Sif sighed and reached out to clasp a hand on his shoulder, and he saw how lines deepened on her brow, as she frowned and lowered her head to cast him a cold gaze. Thor flinched as her thumb caught the exact spot above a deep bruise, and – as he hissed in breath – she removed her hand and placed in on her hip with a quirk of an eyebrow. Sif jerked her head towards the door and warned:

“It is not enough, Thor.”

Thor fidgeted beneath his armour; desperate to remove it for the first time in several days, he pulled at the edges and tugged at the hem of his undershirt, while he gnawed at his lip until he tasted the familiar iron of blood. He moved his free hand to the door, where he pressed fingertips to the wood and remembered back to the night spent with Loki, and a cold terror overcame him as the sense of violation boiled away inside him. Thor leant his forehead to the door in turn, as if he could see through the wood to the room beyond. He whispered:

“What has happened?”

“No one knows,” admitted Sif. “He will not leave your rooms. Thor, I’m worried. You have become careless in battle and your body is covered in wounds, while Loki can be heard screaming during the night and the servants have been forbidden entrance. It is only a matter of time before the Allfather forces entry, but that will only exacerbate matters. You need to convince Loki to either speak to the Allmother or seek the help of the healers.”

Thor resisted the urge to slide down to the floor. A bone-deep exhaustion overcame him, as he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, and he gave a loud sigh as he finally pushed down the handle and allowed the door to open a crack. The stench of rotten food flooded out; a further push revealed piled trays left by the servants, where the food remained half-eaten and half-left, and evidently Loki had lacked the effort or energy to leave the trays outside for someone to remove. Sif coughed and retched until she caught her breath.

“Thank you, friend,” whispered Thor. “I will do what I can.”

“Good luck, Thor,” said Sif. “I wish him well.”

Sif bowed her head with a smile, before she walked out of sight. He listened to her footsteps until he could hear no more, while he half-opened the door to reveal a black room, and the stench grew ever stronger with sweat and stale air, as he instinctively turned his head to the side in avoidance of the smell. Thor threw open the door and stepped inside. He saw no sight of Loki in the lounge area, while nothing seemed outwardly out-of-place.

Thor closed the door shut behind him. The balcony doors were completely shut, so that not one stray element of light shone through, and the only illumination came from the _en suite_ where both bedroom and bathroom doors appeared flung open. He choked on the air. A cold sweat overcame him, as tears pricked at his eyes and his lips trembled, but he somehow managed to slow his heart-rate enough to walk towards the bedroom without fainting in the process. He was light-headed. There was something wrong.

He slowly worked at his armour, as he walked forward. Stray pieces fell to the ground, where he kicked them to the side and let them stay where they landed, and he struggled to fight with the larger pieces, simply desperate to finally be free from reminders of battle. Thor rolled his shoulders once finally freed from the metal, and removed the rest of his clothing until he was left in just a loose pair of trousers. He glanced to the _en suite_. The harsh lights illuminated the room beyond, where a harsh humidity bled out from the crack in the door.

A cold sense of terror overcame him. He raised both hands to his mouth, as he breathed low and deep and sought to control his body, and – with a trembling smile – stumbled towards the door and reached out with a shaking hand towards the wood. Thor paused just before he made contact. He closed his eyes and clenched his fist, before he let out a staggered breath and finally pushed the door wide open to reveal the scene beyond. Thor’s heart sank.

“What have you done, Loki?”

The room was in complete disarray. He spotted the wide open balcony doors, which allowed in a warm breeze that only added to the sticky and sickly humid atmosphere, while every single surface and bowl was upturned and scattered about the room. The mirrors lay shattered; Thor spotted hundreds of reflective pieces all over the floor, along with a great deal of water from an overflowing bathtub, and all toiletries and oils were smashed against walls.

He struggled to walk inside, as every step risked pieces of porcelain or glass in the soles of his feet, and so he returned to the bedroom in search of slippers, before he ran back inside and turned off the various overflowing taps and unplugged the bathtub. Thor rubbed dry his arms with a towel, only to stop . . . _scratchy, stained red, stench of iron_. . . he turned slowly to observe all crooks and corners of the devastated room. Every second stretched into eternity, as he dropped the towel and let it flutter to the wet tiled floor. Loki sat alone.

Thor allowed his tears to fall.

Loki sat on the floor, with one leg outstretched and one pulled upright. He was dressed only in an old pair of green pyjamas, where the material looked rough and common, and his hair was in matted loose curls over his shoulders, as his pale hands lay limp in his lap. The black bags under his eyes were matched only by the shadows on his sunken cheeks, and his foot was bleeding above a small puddle of blood, embedded with shards of glass.

“Loki,” whispered Thor. “I am sorry.”

Thor took a basin and filled it with warm water. He took a clean towel and brought the basin to Loki’s feet, where he brushed away dirt and debris to sit opposite him, and gently lifted the sliced foot to place on cross legs. Loki remained mute. No words were said, even as Thor gently extricated pieces of glass from flesh and carefully washed the wounds. A few flinches and hisses were the only responses, as Loki let his head loll to the side.

A long few minutes passed. The only sounds were the light sloshes of water, along with his racing heart that pounded in his ears, and occasionally the breeze would bring with it the caws of ravens, while Loki slowly hummed a lazy and pained tune. The wounds were shallow and clean, which meant they would avoid scarring and infection, but Thor caught sight of a few stray red lines just beneath Loki’s sleeve. Tears blurred his vision, as he made a mental note to contact the healers. Loki smiled and looked with half-lidded eyes to Thor.

“You’ve been a long time,” murmured Loki.

Thor lifted the foot and carefully placed in on the tile. He slid across the wet floor to sit beside Loki, before he draped an arm over his shoulders and pulled him close, and Loki only let out a broken laugh as he rested his head on Thor’s bare chest. Thor counted the days that parted them . . . just five in total . . . a terrified part of him wondered what would have happened had even a day longer passed, as Loki trembled and shivered against him. He swallowed back bile and saliva, as he blinked back tears and choked out:

“The Nine Realms are in chaos.”

“A few weeks since the Bifrost reopened, but a year-and-a-half since it was broken.” Loki rolled his head and struggled to look upright. “I do not begrudge you for – as Father says – ‘striving to undo the damage done’, particularly as I am reminded that it is my fault the realms have been left unsecure and in such chaos. You will be king one day.”

“Every day I spend with you, I already feel a king,” whispered Thor. “You were not in such a state when I left you, Loki. You wept and screamed, while you slept on the sofa and would not abide my touch, but you were healthy and strong, but now . . . you look broken.”

“I could say the same for you.”

Thor winced and looked down. Loki’s head rested over his heart, where he listened to every loud beat, and it left him with a perfect view of bruised ribs and a large burn across hipbone, while dozens of smaller cuts and bruises littered his skin. It was a perfect map of the past five days in battle, with some bruises yellowing and others a stark blue. Loki traced a collection of cuts on his abdomen with a trembling finger. Thor hissed and flexed his stomach muscles, as he drew in a harsh breath and his heart raced ever faster in pain, as Loki observed:

“You have lost yourself in battle.”

“Aye, it was the only distraction I had,” confessed Thor. “The first few days I tried to scrub away the shame and guilt until my skin bled, but I still felt contaminated by our act . . . I physically enjoyed our union, but that pleasure came at the cost of your pain, and I could not undo what passed between us. The diplomatic meetings did little to take my mind from that constant sense of dread, but the heat of battle allowed me to feel free.

“Every blow was one I deserved. I felt like I was being justly punished for hurting you, while I was also able to scream my anger at the sky and deal back the aggression for which I had no other outlet, and soon I was dripping in blood and the adrenaline brought such a rush. I may have stayed in the heat of battle, but I could not leave you for that long alone.”

“The Allfather estimates it could be a year before peace is restored,” muttered Loki. “You will battle in many wars. You will engage in many diplomatic missions. There will come a point where you must leave me alone and simply trust that I will be well.”

“How can I do that, Loki? Look at this mess!”

Thor waved a hand about the bathroom. The humidity was broken by a cool breeze that came through the balcony doors, while the blood on the tiles stained the drying tiles, and Thor struggled to still his racing heart at the inevitable discussion with their father. Odin would soon find out about the broken mirrors and smashed tiles, which would lead to many questions and comments and trips to the healers, and Thor would be unable to protect Loki from the attention that would come his way. He swallowed hard and swore:

“If it helps, I will not penetrate you again.”

A cold silence hung between them, as Loki stirred and struggled to sit upright. Thor slid behind him and wrapped his arms around a surprisingly thin waist, while Loki leaned back with a sigh and rested his head on Thor’s shoulder, and together they struggled to collect their thoughts and emotions. Loki looked flushed, with eyes half-lidded and body weak to the touch, and it seemed to take all his energy to so much as lift an arm. Loki asked:

“You would rather turn to surrogacy?”

“I would rather not force the matter in any form.” Thor squeezed Loki. “Loki, we must produce an heir to prevent war, but let us wait a few weeks or months . . . we can then either engage in surrogacy or insemination, which will spare us both such a burden. In the meantime, I will try to better juggle my duties to our realm and my duties toward you.”

“Odin Borson would argue our realm must be your priority, Thor.”

“Aye, well, I am _not_ our father. I will spend as much time with you as I am able, even if that means sacrificing time with our friends, and perhaps I can convince Father to include the gardens under the terms of your house arrest. We could all have a picnic.”

Loki turned his eyes to the balcony. Thor caught the sense of desire, as a small smile broke on his lips, and he closed his eyes for a brief moment, as the breeze caught his hair and blew it about his face. Thor allowed a tear to fall, as he gently stood and allowed Loki to lean back against the wall, while he walked over to the claw-footed bathtub and allowed fresh water to slowly fill it to the rim. The rushing water nearly drowned out his quiet question:

“Why did you hurt yourself, Loki?”

Loki said nothing. Thor let out a long sigh, as he carefully brushed a path through the debris and guided Loki to his feet, and – with water eyes – helped him to walk over to the bathtub, where he sat him on the edge of the porcelain and slowly undressed him. The ribs on his chest were prominent enough to speak of a vastly reduced diet, although not quite so displayed as to prove a severe concern, and his skin was pale all over.

There was nothing out of the ordinary about his body, but Thor noted a row of parallel cuts along his inner right arm, and it took all his self-control not to demand answers, as he turned off the water and carefully tested the temperature with his hand. It was warm as Loki liked, without being as scalding as Thor preferred, and Thor – with a smile – helped Loki swing his legs over the side and slowly sink into the relaxing waters. Loki let out a long gasp. He sank beneath for a long few seconds, until he pulled back up with a smile.  

“Loki,” said Thor. “Would you rather talk to Mother?”

Loki leaned against the porcelain. He allowed his wet locks to fall over the side, as Thor found a stray comb from the floor and came around to kneel behind Loki, and – with gentle touches – started working out the many knots from the bottom upward. Loki would let out shuddered breaths and choked gasps, as if caught between silence and tears. The steam from the bathtub rose up; Thor struggled to still his trembling lips, as his cheeks reddened and his hands shook in their ministrations, and he begged in a hushed whisper:

“Talk to me, _please_.”

“You worry about contamination and violation,” muttered Loki. “Is it wrong that I rather worry about what people think about me? I can see it in their eyes. They know, Thor. _They know_. I only had to open the door to the servants to see it . . . the judgement, the _pity_. . . I feel as if we are being raped all over again by their eyes. What am I to do, Thor?

“I cannot blind everyone who sags their shoulders and lowers their heads, just because their instinct is to go ‘aw’ as if I am no more than a babe, and what am I to do about the others that curl their lips and roll their eyes, as they think that I courted such an act? Half our people pity me, half our people despise me, and _all_ of them judge me. I feel dirty and used and broken, but I know that they _know_ and always this stigma shall hang over me. I hate it!”

“They do not see it as rape, Loki.” Thor flinched. “They only know that we are trying for a child, which is natural in such a political union, and if they judge you . . . they judge you because you receive. It is still wrong, but there is no blame or pity.”

“You think being considered an _ergi_ comes with no stigma?”

“I think that you endure worse than I, that much is true.” Thor combed at Loki’s hair. “I only know that a few of my friends seek to congratulate me, while I simply feel invalidated, as if all I endured was actually nothing to them. They see my domination of you as an achievement, which sickens me, but to argue against them appears a lost cause.”

Loki chuckled and cupped his hands in the water. He brought up it to his face with a splash, while his eyes appeared bloodshot and tears merged with the water, and already the water appeared muddied and reddened and stained, enough that it would perhaps take another bathtub to fully cleanse Loki from the week of neglect. Thor knew that prejudices ran deep, enough that it would take years to undo such outdated beliefs, but he also knew they would not have years, especially if Loki had already conceived. Loki spat out:

“Arguing against them is to argue against society.”

“It would be easier for us to endure it alone.”

“Ah, but did you not hear?” Loki gave a broken laugh. “It _helps_ to talk. I sometimes think that the act of talking only serves to alleviate the guilt of the listener, as they feel they have achieved some sense of purpose, while we continue to bear our burdens and suffer in silence, as who can understand what it feels to be used as if you were simply a walking incubator?”

“I can understand now our women’s paranoia about such attacks . . . why they do not walk alone at night, why they avoid certain alleyways . . . I feel it wrong to compare our trauma to theirs, as theirs must surely be worse, but a part of me understands nonetheless.”

“Trauma doesn’t exist on a quantifiable scale, Thor.”

“I know,” muttered Thor. “I know two people may react differently to the same trauma, but I fear others believe that there is just one valid reaction and that is why they judge. I know the Valkyrie changed our perceptions of women, while those like Sif have proved many wrong, but the problem runs deeper. We must make changes in our society.”

A change overcame the air. The temperature dipped, as the breeze picked up and a light shower rained down on the balcony, and – with a sigh of relief – Thor breathed deep the humid air and smiled as the weather cleansed the world around them. Loki said nothing, even as his hands swept light circles on the water’s surface. Thor sighed to see him so silent. He stopped combing away the knots and placed the comb down, before he took Loki’s shoulders in hand and massaged with a firm hand the tense muscles beneath.

“You seem despondent,” said Thor.

“Our rape has become an issue of women’s rights, Thor?” Loki tensed with a sigh. “Do you know this is why the _ergi_ stigma persists? There is no shame in two men fucking, but there is shame in a man _receiving_ another, because to receive is to be seen as willingly taking the part of a woman, and woman are _oh_ so inferior. _I am no woman, Thor_!”

“No, you are not. You make that clear any time you belittle Jane. Do you not see any irony in your actions? You loathe being judged, but you would openly judge others! What we did together was wrong, Loki. We both suffered. Why allow others to suffer, too?”

“You think of others when you should think about _us_ , Thor.”

“I think of how no one else need suffer like us.”

Loki pulled away from Thor’s touch. He leaned forward and brought his legs up to his chest, while he wrapped his arms around his legs and rested his head on his knees, only to gaze over the balcony to the realm beyond. The sound of rain was soft on marble, while they watched as thousands of tiny splashes provided a beautiful pattern and reflected the sun above, and Thor slowly removed his trousers so that he was bared naked in the dirtied bathroom.

“We are arguing,” muttered Loki.

Thor let out a saddened laugh, as he slid into the bath behind Loki. He struggled to fit his legs on either side of Loki, so instead contented himself by allowing them to hang on either side of the bathtub, before he leaned forward and embraced Loki from beyond. The intimate touch was all that was needed to break Loki. Loud choked cries escaped his lips, as he collapsed against Thor and struggled to breathe through his evident pain, and his entire body shuddered beneath the water as he grasped hard on Thor’s forearms and pleaded:

“I just want the pain to stop, Thor.”

Loki still sought to hold back. He left visible crescent-shaped cuts on Thor’s skin, as he held ever tighter and breathed ever shallower, and – with loud gasps – he screwed shut his eyes and pressed his head hard against Thor’s collarbone. Thor let his lip tremble, as tears blurred his vision and he placed kisses to Loki’s neck, but the gesture was the final straw . . . _Loki broke_. . . the loud scream hurt Thor’s ears and forced him to grip ever tighter.  Loki arched his back and kicked violently at the taps, as he thrashed around with louder cries . . .

Thor struggled to hold him, even as Loki clawed at his arms. The screams and thrashes and moans continued on and on and on, until Loki finally collapsed back against him with quiet sobs that barely could be heard, and Thor silently wept as he ran his hands through wet hair, while he licked at his lips and fought to find the right words. They could hardly go back in time and undo what had been done, and no words could fix Loki’s pain.

“I know, Loki,” whispered Thor. “I know.”


	13. Chapter 13

Loki was feral.

Sif noted the black bags under his eyes, while his skin was sallow in places and pale in others, and his hair – pulled back into greased curls – only emphasised the wildness of his expression, as his lip pulled into a half-smirk and he paced the lounge with his head hung low. He wore heavy layers of black-and-green leather. Sif noticed that his nails were cut short, while his eyes looked a little bloodshot, and constantly he glanced across the room . . .

A strange sceptre stood on a far bookcase. It was a new possession, but one not gifted by Thor or purchased via the servants, and it looked far from Asgardian in design, but it was difficult to properly observe when hidden by so many other objects. The tables were flooded with books and papers, while expensive foods cluttered every chair and shelf, and Thor appeared to be over-compensating for his remorse and absences with expensive gifts, some of which were imported from realms yet to be named or fully explored.

Sif drew in a deep breath, as she bit into the corner of her lip. Loki laughed in a broken and eerie manner, as he spun around and swayed a little wear he stood, and Sif – lifting her head high, with a flare of her nostrils – made a mental note to summon Thor immediately back to Asgard. He gave a sarcastic bow, as he waved one hand lazily in the air. Sif stood her ground, even as her hand clenched around the hilt of her sword, and she said in a low and calm voice:

“Loki, you must seek the healers.”

Loki rolled his eyes and threw himself onto an armchair. He allowed his arms to rest on the sides, while he stared at her with a half-focussed gaze, and – for a moment – she was briefly reminded of those who would return from war only to suffer mental breaks. Sif slowly moved opposite him; the sofa remained before her, as she stood behind and used it to keep a barrier between them, and she carefully removed her hand from her sword.

Sif placed both hands onto the back of the sofa, as she softened her stance and forced a smile despite how her heart raced, and – with a long sigh of breath – nodded towards him with feigned deference. It was too easy to remember the man he once was . . . _strong, confident, articulate_. . . he sat a pale shadow of his former self, just beyond her reach, and there was nothing that she could do that would ease his pain. Sif licked at her lips and glanced towards the main doors, as she listened to the guards change shifts outside. Sif pleaded:

“You are not _well_ , Loki.”

“I am to be like Thor?” Loki rolled his eyes. “Ah, I see how he visits the healers. They poke and prod at his mind, as if he were no more than a broken pot in need of gluing together, and they – _they_ – are able to undo the trauma of a mutual rape? I think not. He may smile more and laugh more, but those memories . . . _the violation_. . . it stays with him.”

“You have spent the past month locked in your rooms,” said Sif. “The Allfather has been wracked with guilt; I fear he blames himself for your isolation, while Thor struggles to accept his part in events. You have led Thor to believe he is solely to blame!”

“I have told Thor over and over that what happened –”

“ _Thor is no fool_! He is observant, Loki. He watches you as you grow further and further into this madness, and he knows that – if only he had fought more against the Allfather, against you – this entire outcome may have been avoided. Thor thinks it is his fault for not stopping your consummation, just as he knows nothing he does eases your suffering. . .”

Sif ran her hands over her face. The clatter of armour outside signified an increased guard, while a few whispers echoed through the door itself, and – as they waited for Loki to volunteer himself into the care of the healers – Sif knew that time was limited. They would wait only a few hours at the most, even should she ask them to delay their retrieval of Loki, but he would need therapy . . . time . . . medications . . . Sif screwed shut her eyes, as she struggled to control her breathing and let her hands grip at the sofa cushion.

It took all her strength to look on him once more, afraid that the Allfather was correct, but afraid that Thor would not forgive a forced intervention, and yet there Loki stood with knuckles white with clenched fists and head so low that shadows only made his bone structure even sharper. He looked like one ripped from the pages of a children’s story, something both inhuman and once human in nature. Sif asked in a broken voice:

“Where were you today, Loki?”                       

Loki locked eyes with Sif. He smiled in such a way that lines deepened about his face, while he slowly slid his hands before him and held them clasped between his legs, before he cocked his head to the side and Sif held tighter onto the back of the sofa, as the sun picked up through the open balcony doors . . . it cast long shadows over the lounge, where it reflected from a few stray pieces of Thor’s armour. The light caught her eyes and left a violent after-image, as she turned her head and fixated on some far spot.

“I don’t know what you mean,” lied Loki.

“I came here earlier to talk with you.” Sif pointed a finger at him. “Thor was forced to leave; this was a battle that required his attention, while the Allmother worried you would deny her entry, and Heimdall has reported you have been invisible to his eye for hours at a time. The Allfather requires answers, as he thinks you have circumvented the house arrest.”

“I _have_ circumvented the house arrest. I donned the guise of a young woman, headed into the outskirts of the city, and met with a healer who works for substantial sums, because – _of course_ – nothing in confidential in this godforsaken place. He will hold his tongue.”

“And what will he keep secret that Eir will not?”

A long pause lingered between them. Sif listened as a pair of ravens cawed from the balcony, only to quickly depart once Loki sent them a dark glare, and for a while they circled in the air, until they flew away on a warm breeze. There were tears pricking at the corners of Loki’s eyes, as he hummed a tuneless tune and waved a hand in the air, before he looked to Sif with a sad smile that caused her stomach to drop on the very sight. Loki choked out:

“I am pregnant.”

Loki patted at his stomach. It was a light and slow gesture, completed with a grin so sarcastic that she feared his rage would soon follow, but the smile soon fell from his face, and his eyes watered as he collapsed back into his chair. There was as slight swell to his stomach, which was barely noticeable to the naked eye. It would be something felt to the touch, perhaps even spotted with tighter attire, but he hid it well and even sat in a manner to avoid drawing the eye to his abdomen. He swirled his fingers about in light circles.

“Surely,” said Sif, “that is a good thing?”

Sif walked around the sofa, as she sat on the soft cushions. A warm breeze blew through the lounge, which caught at Loki’s hair and brought some colour to his cheeks, and he looked down to his stomach with an indifferent expression. The tremble to his hand betrayed his emotions, while his eyes continued to water, but he somehow schooled his reactions to remain stoic and unperturbed. Sif struggled to still her racing heart.

Every instinct commanded her to _act_. It would take only one cry to the guards to have Loki removed to the healers, where Odin and Frigga would be waiting to tend to his needs, but there was something that held her back . . . Sif ran brought a hand to her chest. A few stray toys lay scattered across the floor, a reminder that Thrúd still resided among them for another few weeks, but nothing else indicated a potential newborn child. Thor did not know. Sif flinched and cast her eyes back to his stomach, as she asked in a quiet voice:

“Do you wish to terminate the pregnancy?”

“No,” muttered Loki. “No! I hear a Jotun pregnancy is only six months, which means I only must endure a further five, and if I were to terminate . . . it would mean that our rape was for nothing . . . _nothing_! I did not endure such a violation for _that_. Thor and I made this sacrifice knowing that it would achieve peace between the realms, and so to throw that away now. . .”

“There is more to this than mere politics!” Sif leaned forward. “I would have peace between ourselves and Jotunheim as much as anyone, but this trauma has maddened you . . . every day you slip from us more and more. How will you cope with this pregnancy?”

“Honestly? I do not know. I have experienced pain far worse than childbirth, so I have no fear for labour or blood or afterbirths, but each time I look into the mirror -?” Loki winced. “I see a man whose Jotun heritage is hidden by a mere spell, and I know that this creature inside me will be part Jotun . . . part _me_! How am I to love a Jotun? How will a Jotun love an _ergi_?

“I have been sick within the past . . . parasites from bad food, splinters from broken wood . . . it feels too much like a foreign body within mine, one to be expelled and eradicated, as opposed to the natural growth of a living person. I live every moment in total fear. I want to scream and claw at my skin, but my stress and injuries will only harm _it_ , and is my body truly no longer my own? Do I now belong to this child? How long until people prod at me?”

“The touches of the stomach,” whispered Sif. “The invasive questions.”

“I forgot how you and Haldor suffered,” admitted Loki.

Sif moved her hand to her stomach. It was an instinctual act, even as she cursed the sensation of emptiness, and her fingers stroked lightly over the leather, as she gave an absent smile and closed her eyes. The fact was that there would be more chances in the future, but no other child could ever replace the one lost. Sif blinked away the tears. The smile fell from her lips as she looked across to Loki, who leaned back with hands clasped over his abdomen and legs stretched out before him. He appeared on the very edge of a deep sleep.

“How did _you_ endure?” Loki asked.

“I was mildly inconvenienced by those that would stroke my stomach,” said Sif. “I threatened at first to cut off the hand of the next person that touched me without my consent, but I soon realised that they were simply sharing in my excitement, and they wished to show their affection for my child much how I did when alone. I would stroke at the skin. I would sing them songs. Even now, I say my prayers to them every night.”

“You experienced that maternal bond from the start? I – I do not . . . _I do not_!” Loki laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks. “What kind of parent does not feel an instinctual bond for their unborn child? What is wrong with me that this love is lacking? I am every bit the monster that I know myself to be! I am a Jotun in heart as well as deed.”

“The idea of a maternal bond is a myth! Haldor and I tried for a child out of love and desire for a family, so it is only natural I would have felt a bond with one I so desired, but why would you feel that same bond when _forced_ to procreate? You are no monster.”

“You would claim this natural? What if I never love them?”

“Did you consider me a friend when we first met?” Sif narrowed her gaze and shook her head. “No, I was a simple stranger. You did not fall in love with Thor on first glance. You did not automatically respect Laufey due to your shared blood. It _may_ be that hormones help you to love this child as soon as it is born, but perhaps you will need time . . . that is no sin.

“Your love for Thor is no less for developing over time. Your friendship with me is no less despite not being there from the start. If you do not feel love for your child, it will likely be that you will grow to love them once you learn more about them . . . their likes, their dislikes, their quirks, their habits, their strengths . . . do not pretend to know the next four millennia based upon the first four hours of knowing their existence. These things take time.”

A strange silence befell them. Loki stood and paced back and forth, as the tears slowly dried and left long trails down his cheeks, and – with a long sigh – he kicked at a plush toy underfoot, which rolled over to reveal a long green snake. He reached down and held it before his eyes; he looked it over with unfocussed eyes, as he half-smiled and shook his head, and soon he placed it respectfully on the table. It belonged either to Thrúd or the unborn child, but Sif knew better than to ask such a question aloud. Loki continued to pace.

There were no mirrors in the lounge. It was a small detail, but one that was difficult to ignore once noticed, and the few photographs and portraits were removed, leaving discoloured walls or lines in the dust to mark where they once stood. Loki came back to lean against the armchair, where he leaned forward and hunched his shoulders, and – with the posture so lax – the almost imperceptible swell to his stomach became more noticeable.

“The child would be Jotun,” whispered Loki.

Sif winced and slapped the arm of the sofa. A cold realisation overcame her, as she fought back the urge to walk away from one she still barely trusted, and instead stood with a sigh and walked over to him. Sif did not dare to touch him, not least when intimacy was hard-earned with Loki, but she did stand close enough to feel the warmth from his body, while she leaned closer to provide a small reassurance. The breeze from the balcony grew cold, reminding them of the snowy realms beyond Asgard. Sif whispered:

“A month in Jotunheim each year is not too bad.”

“And what shall they teach him?”

“You or Thor could accompany the child,” said Sif. “If you would rather not stay in Jotunheim, or if Thor cannot go for extended periods, I would gladly volunteer myself to go as the child’s chaperone. I can guarantee they shall only learn about customs and culture, as well as unbiased history and their language, and it shall sate Helblindi.”

“They will live in Asgard until Helblindi dies, Sif! He could live three more millennia, perhaps slightly closer to four, and by that point my _son_ may have a son, which could take the throne in his place. He would spend a lifetime in Asgard, listening to their abuse . . .”

“Have you received abuse for being Jotun, Loki? Is this the issue?”

Loki pushed past her with a harsh shove. It brought a quickening to her heart, as she clenched her fists and her jaw, and her eyes narrowed until they were mere slits, while she stood perfectly still and ignored how Loki paced back and forth . . . _back and forth_. . . he buried his hands into his hair with a brutal growl. It started low, before it fast became a scream. Sif stood still. The sound of broken sobs forced her to turn around, as she licked at her lips and chanced a step towards Loki, who wept silently with a trembling lip.

“Thor already has Thrúd,” observed Loki.

“You have not allowed Thrúd in your rooms.” Sif let out a long sigh. “You will not leave your rooms. Do you think building a bond with your step-daughter will help alleviate your concerns about parenthood? If Thrúd can love you, so too will your child.”

“Children will love anyone, as I once loved my parents.”

“You still love them,” said Sif. “Do not lie.”

Loki laughed long and low. The sound was almost jovial, until he snatched at a glass from a side-table and bounced it in his hands with a smile, and – with a loud scream – he tossed the glass across the room until it smashed against a far wall. Sif heard the guards outside jump to full attention, forcing her to call out for them to stand down and wait, while Loki only glanced towards the doors with a cold laugh and shook his head. Sif asked:

“What will you do now, Loki?”

No further words were exchanged. Loki hummed an odd tune, as he clasped his hands behind his back and stepped forward with one leg swinging before the other, and he walked a strangely perfect line towards Sif, before he clapped his hands together as if in prayer. A sarcastic smile played his lips, as he tilted his head and leaned forward. The black bags under his eyes looked all the darker. Sif stood her ground, as she drew in deep breaths, and Loki finally leaned back and asked in a low and almost sweet voice:

“Do not tell anyone about this pregnancy, please.”

“Loki, I will swear to secrecy if it puts your mind at rest,” said Sif. “Still, you must know that the guards are outside to escort you to the infirmary? Odin Allfather is worried and wishes for a full examination, as well as for intensive therapy and supervision, and this will inevitably reveal that you are with child. Even if they do not make this discovery, I would be forced to tell them once you get closer to your due date. I would have no choice.”

“That is fine, Lady Sif,” chirped Loki. “I simply need a little time to secure for me a future, one in which I will not need to worry about existing under the thumb of one king or another, and perhaps – with a kingdom of my own – my son will not be enslaved to the throne of an icy wasteland. I have spoken to those that would help me in this endeavour.”

“Do you realise how mad you sound, Loki? Look, I can leave if you wish. I can give you an hour to compose yourself and come willingly to the healers. I can even keep quiet about your pregnancy for now, but you must be realistic with your expectations!”

“Very well, I shall take your hour. Goodbye for now.”

“Loki, I need to know that you take seriously this matter.” Sif wrung her hands before her. “We are worried for you, Loki! We have given you space as you asked. We have not questioned Thor when he desired to take care of you. It is no longer enough . . . Thor alone cannot ease your mind, while you retreat more and more. Let us help you.”

Loki raised an eyebrow. He sauntered over to the armchair, before he threw himself onto the soft cushions, and he draped one leg over the arm and his arm over its back, as he smirked and lifted his hands in a mock gesture of ‘ignorance’. Sif clenched her hands until the knuckle turned white, as she stormed over to the bedroom doors and slammed her hand on the handle. A short turn of the handle garnered a long sigh from Loki.

“Thank you for your friendship,” said Loki.

“Is that all you have to say?”

He pointed towards the door with an exaggerated yawn. Sif knew that an hour would be too much time . . . _he had plans, he had seiðr, he had secret passageways_. . . Sif pulled open the door and raised a hand to stop the guards, as her heart raced to the point her head grew light and her blood ran cold. The fact was that Loki was a flight risk and a danger to others, perhaps even to himself, and so half-an-hour would be the most she could give . . . enough to sate his desire to be left alone, enough to put her mind to rest . . . Sif lied:

“I will be back in an hour.”

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

Loki gazed above.

The moonlight caught the stone bridges. It caught the corners just right, so that – combined with the frost – it contorted so that the air looked alive with a silver aura, and the trains that rolled past were so sophisticated in design that it put Asgard to shame. They moved with high speed and little sound, so that Loki was forced to step closer to the grand archways in hopes of catching some sign they were more than just an illusion. No sound could be heard.

He stood in the shadow of the bridge, as he looked out over the landscape. There were clusters of towns and villages as far as the eye could see, each one with interweaving roads and railways that connected them like a spider-web, and the crunching snow underfoot was the only sign that this was indeed Jotunheim. He saw lights glistening in tall buildings. He saw grid-lock patterns designed for herds of animals or native crops. He saw a world that _thrived_ just nearly two years after being decimated, while his realm grew stagnate.

Loki wandered through the snow to the large pillars that marked the main gates, and – in a square courtyard beyond – he caught sight of a statue with an unrecognisable face, while two more pillars stood just further on with a second gate. The guards were numerous, enough that he nearly missed sight of Helblindi as he marched through both sets of gates, veering only to avoid the statue with a smile and craned head to observe the face. He appeared to dance along the snow, leaving erratic footprints until he soon reached Loki and hooked arms.

It provided a small relief. Loki leaned against him, letting Helblindi bear most of his weight under the guise of a ‘companionable gesture’, as the wind picked up and snow bore down heavy on them with a flurry of flakes that scattered about their feet. They walked until they reached a small area that was marked with stone benches, and – without a word – Helblindi guided Loki to sit on one that provided a beautiful view of the iced oceans.

“You built a transport system,” observed Loki.

Helblindi lifted an eyebrow with a smile. He looked over to the bridges, as he slapped a hand on Loki’s back with a shake of his head, and – sliding his hand up to grip Loki’s shoulder in a brotherly embrace – his eyes lit up on sight of the bridges. There was a childlike glee, even as his long black hair swept over his face and the bristles of his fur cape moved in the breeze. Loki was curious. He looked Helblindi over, while he gritted his hands into tight fists and closed his eyes tight enough for spots to appear. Loki felt his head grow light.

“Well, not _personally_ ,” said Helblindi. “I _did_ invent the trains, though.”

Loki opened his eyes, as he blinked away his surprise. The cold stone beneath him was oddly comfortable, with the layer of frost centring his mind and easing his stomach, as he brought a hand to the small swell with a trembling lip. He looked to Helblindi and watched as lines broke deep around his eyes, which sparkled any time a train sped past on the tracks, and there was a sharp insightfulness that was alien to his concept of the Jotuns. Loki asked:

“You _truly_ invented such a complex system?”

“No, but it’s a compliment you would believe that!” Helblindi laughed and shook his head. “I did design the railway patterns and planned the locations for the stations, however, _but_ I required a vast amount of help. My engineers informed me that high speeds on sharp corners is a recipe for disaster . . . well, I didn’t particularly want my commuters and cargo hurtling off a cliff, so some sacrifices had to be made and the layouts were thus altered.

“If you decide to make this more than a passing trip, I would love to show you our underground system. It’s in case Asgard takes out any of our major routes in future attacks, so we have a guaranteed system for emergency transportation, such as evacuations or transfer of rations, but it barely gets any usage aside from dry runs. Býleistr thinks it a frivolous cost.”

“Oh? What do _you_ think?”

“I think I’d rather have such a system and not need it, than to need one and not have one.” Helblindi shrugged with a smile. “I also set up a self-sustained agricultural system, along with several renewable energy sources with stations at strategic locations, but – again – I can’t claim entire credit. I’ve also established two annual holidays; one in honour of those who have rebuilt our nation, and one to honour the dead who died during the terrorist attack.”

Loki ran his hands over his face. A broken laugh threatened to escape his lips, as he swayed and ignored how Helblindi held tighter onto his shoulder, and his eyes stung with sweat and tears and dryness from a lack of sleep. The world around him seemed to spin, even as his breaths came out shallow and fast. He watched with wide eyes to see a small boy in the distance sled down a hill, while a pair of men stood top and bottom with exaggerated gestures of encouragement, and Loki vaguely remembered sledding on some other realm as a child.

He finally laughed, as the sound vibrated through his chest. It was loud and deep, until it finally broke into choked sobs, and he collapsed forward and held his head between his legs, while Helblindi rubbed circles on his back as if he were seasick. There were voices in his head competing for his attention . . . _‘your birthright was to die as a child’, ‘am I not your mother?’, ‘my brother is still in there somewhere’ . . ._ Loki choked out:

“One man’s freedom fighter is another man’s terrorist.”

“It was not _freedom_ achieved that day, Loki.”

Loki pulled himself back into a sitting position. He threw his head back, as he gazed up at the stars above and searched for sight of Asgard, and – with a trembling smile – he tasted the salt of his tears and licked them away with a laugh. A cold sweat broke over his skin, even as Helblindi sighed and threw back his cape. A few seconds later the excess material was draped over Loki, so both shared the black fur and leather, and Loki leaned against what was exceptionally warm skin for a Jotun. No words were said, as the wind picked up strength.

“I will admit I am surprised,” said Loki.

“You expected to come back to a desolate wasteland?” Helblindi gripped hard on his shoulder. “Come, Loki. I have been so excited to show you our new school! I’m debating whether to have my nephew study there during his visits, as it was so lonely being stuck with private tutors all day, and you would have been taught at the Academy, correct?”

“I am not here for a state visit, Helblindi, but . . . one day, I would be curious to see more about this land and your people. You have a statue there at the entrance to the city, but I do not recognise the face or the purpose of such an extravagance.”

“Oh, that’s the face of a man we could not identify.” Helblindi sighed. “I thought it would be a nice symbolic gesture; he represents all men lost, as we can project any identity or image we like upon him, and – as we grieve for him – we grieve for all men. Do not think us _too_ sentimental. A small political group see it as a symbol for Asgard’s brutality.

“I am currently caught between constant political wars of words. One side seeks for us to be secluded, afraid of any trades or treaties with one that attacked us to the edge of extinction, while another believes our father’s isolation to be the source of our problems . . . the cause of the attack. I am inclined to agree with them. Laufey drove us into seclusion, while Odin preached a hateful rhetoric and alienated our people. When all is combined . . .”

“. . . it leads to war.”

“The funny thing, Loki? Odin is half-Jotun the same as us. I do believe Bestla was a relative of Father in some form, but – with you and Thor already cousins – it depresses me to think how interwoven our family trees have become. I would need a pair of shears to untangle that absolute mess of branches and twigs. We have a painting of her in our national gallery.”

Loki rapidly blinked. He turned his head to Helblindi, who appeared almost proud by such an almost random declaration, and Loki – with a furrowed brow – realised he had never once seen a picture of his grandmother. There were grand statues dedicated to Bor, which littered the main entrances of Asgard, while portraits still decorated the main halls and rooms, and yet Loki could not so much as picture Bestla in his mind. It was a blur to him.

Helblindi sighed and watched the family not far away, where the boy’s sled caught on some unseen obstacle and he tumbled the last few feet, and soon the father at the bottom scooped him up with kisses and laughs and hugs, until the tears stopped and the three of them walked back towards a far village. It was such a human display of emotion. Loki pursed his lips and brought his hand to his stomach, while Helblindi hummed and reached his hand up to the sky, as snowflakes caught on the leather of his finger, before he pulled back and asked:

“Why are you here, Loki?”

Loki clenched his hands and held them between his legs. He appreciated the warmth of the cape around his shoulders, while Helblindi spoke without judgement, and – for a brief second – a spark of clarity overcame him and peace overtook him. Loki relaxed his hands with a sigh, as he hunched his shoulders and laughed through his tears. The only sounds were those of a cold breeze and the many trains that whizzed by them, but somewhere he heard the sound of metal-on-metal as someone sparred and another person laughed. He shook his head.

“I may have . . . _escaped_ ,” muttered Loki.

“Well, I did wonder how you circumvented your house arrest.”

“They sought to force me to visit the infirmary.” Loki shrugged with a smirk. “I was given an hour before they came to collect me, so I slipped out before the thirty-minute mark was reached, as there was no way that they would keep their word. There are many ways to converse with those from other worlds, even without leaving one’s bedroom, but to fully explore what the worlds have to offer . . . to claim what is _owed_ to you . . .”

“I trust that Heimdall does not see this little conversation? If they thought you mad enough to require treatment, they most certainly would not have allowed you to traverse the realms without a chaperone. I merely have to ask what you _think_ is owed to you, Loki.”

“Freedom is life’s great lie. Once you accept that . . . well . . .”

“That is not an answer. That is a non-sequiter.”

Loki laughed and scratched at his skin. He drew nails over the flesh just between thumb and forefinger, as he left long red marks that proved his Asgardian heritage, and each sharp sting brought him back to the cold reality. The snow built around his boots, rising ever higher like small mountains around the rim. It did little to affect him, even as his breath came out in small puffs of steam, and yet Helblindi – draped in leathers and furs – trembled and clutched closer to the part of the cape that still properly covered his left side. Loki asked:

“Why do you still wear that Jotun illusion?”

A shrug was his only response. Helblindi fell silent at first, before he waved a hand and let his Asgardian form shine brightly with grace and beauty, and then – with another wave – it was replaced again with a distorted light that gave the illusion of another race. The flesh was warm and did not force Loki’s skin into a deathly blue, while the body struggled in such a harsh climate and appeared to start a new fashion as a result, and he clearly did not belong in a realm meant for another. He would have belonged better in Asgard.

“I am proud to be Jotun,” chirped Helblindi.

“They will not accept you in an Asgardian form, is that it?” Loki laughed. “Look at you! You have restored these creatures to all their glory. You have rebuilt this realm from scratch. You see them as your brothers, but you know – _you know_ – they would discard you in a heartbeat should they see you with your white skin and green eyes. I _know_ that pain, too.”

“Do you wish for me to expose myself? I shall.”

“How is it you willingly live such a lie? They lied to me all my life . . . _all my life_. . . they made me hate the very blood that runs through my veins! How am I to feel looking at you? I see a man just like me, but who _chooses_ to live among bloodthirsty monsters, but these same ‘bloodthirsty monsters’ seek only to bury their dead and raise their young! _A lie_.

“And I am supposed to be the willing pawn of liars and tyrants, while being accused of _being_ a liar and a tyrant . . . to _hell_ with such rules! Will this child be as comfortable as you? Will this child grow to hate your people as I was taught to hate your people? They – They – _They shouldn’t even exist_! I was forced to endure a mutual rape, all because _you and my father_ concocted a political plan beyond my consent, and I am just the living incubator.

“No. _No_! I will not be a pawn any longer. If I am to forever be Prince of Jotunheim or Prince Consort of Asgard -? Well, there are those that will _give_ me the power I am owed. This blue-faced parasite inside me may be a Jotun, but they are my _child_ and I will not make them a pawn as I was made a pawn! Peace is only known when one accepts the lie . . .”

“If your freedom is but a lie, has it brought you peace to know this?”

“They _took_ a throne from me. I will have that throne back!”

Spit flew from Loki’s mouth. He sneered with red face and black eyes, as he panted for breath and finally stood, and – with hands buried into his black hair – he paced back and forth with choked sobs and incoherent murmurs. Helblindi said nothing. He simply continued to sit and observe with a detached gaze, even if that same gaze fell to Loki’s stomach with an almost imperceptible twitch of his lips. Loki hunched over and screamed, until guards raced toward them and a raised hand was necessary to keep them at bay. Helblindi observed:

“They took from you the Asgardian throne.”

“I was the rightful king,” wept Loki.

“They took from you the Jotunheim throne.”

The guards kept their distance, but Helblindi bore great strength. Loki knew that no drawn weapons or grand charges would so much as make contact with him, but there was also no joy or thrill in a pointless fight and more to the death count, and instead he sank to his knees with a crunch of snow. He buried his face into his hands and collapsed forward, while Helblindi slowly circled him and crouched down just a few inches before him.

No words were exchanged. No touches given. Helblindi simply let the silence wash over them, until Loki fell onto his buttocks and sat with a raised knee much like a child, even as the tears and sniffs soon died away . . . Helblindi took a handful of snow and ran it over his face, before he gestured to Loki to copy the action. Loki copied him. The snow washed away the tear stains and refreshed him, while snapping him back to the reality around him, as he coldly laughed and tried to avoid the shameful gazes of the guards. Helblindi whispered:

“What throne is left to you, Loki?”

“It's the unspoken truth of humanity, that they crave subjugation.” Loki curled his lip and snarled. “The bright lure of freedom diminishes their life's joy in a mad scramble for power, for identity. They were made to be ruled. In the end, they will always kneel!”

“You do not see the contradiction in your words?” Helblindi folded his arms. “If freedom is such a burden, why do you seek for complete power in the form of a throne? If your time as a prince taught you anything, it is that a king is beholden to his people and subject to their whim, and the more power one possesses . . . the less freedom they retain.”

“My life is a lie. My husband forced to rape me. My child a pawn . . .”

“Who has told you that you could rule Midgard, Loki?”

Loki stood with a cry. He paced back and forth, with hands buried into his hair, while he panted for breath and tasted the tears fresh on his lips, and his green eyes flitted from place to place in a desperate search for some escape. The world closed in around him, as faces merged and blurred until they were no more than strange and menacing flashing images, and the words of those around him became a cacophony of sound, even as Helblindi stood and raised his hand in mock surrender with an eerie smile. Loki grew light-headed.

A hand slid to his stomach, as he stumbled forward. Helblindi caught him and guided him back to the stone bench, while someone came at him with a pewter mug filled with water, and – as he gulped down the crystal clear liquid – he grew more lucid. The guards gave them distance for a private conversation, as Helblindi took some snow and pressed it to the back of Loki’s neck, providing a moment of comfort. Loki let out a long sigh.

“I will offer you unconditional freedom,” said Helblindi.

“You can offer me nothing,” whispered Loki.

“I will pardon you. I will ask Býleistr to procreate with Agnar.” Helblindi licked at his lips. “It will break my heart, yes, and it will reveal his claims of infertility to be a lie, but it would provide me an heir and secure complete freedom for your child. The only thing that I would ask is that you speak to our healers here, at your discretion of course.”

“No. _No_! Why would you make me such an offer? You – _You_ – I – I can not –!” Tears broke in Loki’s eyes. “Why would a Jotun act so selflessly? Even if you are not a monster, _I_ am and I know full well what I am! Do not tell them . . . Do not tell them about this child.”

“Loki, I have never begged for anything in my life. I have always taken what I wanted . . . I took the crown when presented to me, I have taken Býleistr even as Steinn lies in wait beyond an adjoining wall, and I have taken your child for my heir with little concerns of the pressures this would place on you . . . I take and I very rarely give lest it suits my needs. Even helping my people ultimately serves to help me, but here I am –”

“Don’t. _Don’t say it_ ,” spat Loki.

“– _begging_ you not to go Midgard in this condition.”

Loki glanced to the guards; they stood in a strict formation, just far enough to avoid the details of the conversation and close enough to intervene should anything go awry, and he swallowed hard the bile that burned the back of his throat. The breeze picked up and the snow scratched at his face, but – as he swayed and laughed and coughed – he stumbled away from the men and began a long march towards a place where he could make fast exit. Helblindi followed a few feet behind, keeping his men at a distance, even as he struggled to keep pace.

“You are aware I shall have to tell Thor,” called Helblindi.

The threat hung heavy in the air. Loki stopped dead, even as Helblindi caught up with him and stood just beside him in turn, and – with fast and panicked breaths – he spun around with pale face and wide eyes. He struggled to hold back a wave of nausea, as his heart raced until he could hear nothing else and his head grew light. He raised a hand to his neck, as he massaged at the skin and strove to hold back oncoming tears. Loki whispered:

“You would tell him I am pregnant?”

“Eventually,” admitted Helblindi. “I promised your child’s freedom on the condition you do not follow the advice of this mysterious ‘other’,  by conquering a realm that you have no right to conquer, and instead you chose to repeat the mistakes of our father. Odin once defeated Father, just as the son of Odin shall defeat the son of Laufey. There is no proof this conversation ever took place, as such I will lay claim to my heir when the time is right.

“I will not tell him about Midgard, however, simply as there is every small possibility that you shall change your mind or choose to seek help, but I will keep watch on that realm with a close eye . . . the minute you claim a single life, or the minute you seek to dominate over their people, will be the very minute in which Thor shall know your exact location.”

“You act as if I am nothing but a madman lost in abject grief.”

No words were said in response. The lingering unspoken agreement hung between them, where it brought a shocked gasp from Loki, who curled his lip and took a shaking step backwards, where he nearly fell on the ice with body weak and muscles pained. Helblindi reached out and clasped his face between two hands, while he bore an expression that was reminiscent of Thor or Frigga . . . something familial and filled with concern, even as Loki struggled to see him through unfocussed eyes and spotted vision. Helblindi swore:

“I do care for you, Brother.”

“Aye, is that right?” Loki rolled his eyes. “Do you care for me as you care for Býleistr, with an incestuous love so forbidden that you can only watch as he takes another lover, too afraid to lay your claim? Do you care for me as you did your father, with a cold detachment and general fear that you seem to mistake as ‘respect? Ah, no, perhaps you care for me as you care for your people, as a mere tool to be used to your ends? Which is it?”

“It could be all three,” teased Helblindi.

Loki laughed despite the situation. He pushed Helblindi’s hands away, while tears fell down his cheeks and he stumbled towards a rockery not too far from sight, and – with broken sobs – he collapsed onto one and supported himself with another. The cold ice warmed under his touch, while the harsh temperature cleared his mind, but he could only laugh at the Thor knowing his pain . . . _he would lecture, fuss, worry_. . . in a matter of hours, Loki could escape it all and escape the pain. Helblindi said in a quiet voice:

“Thanos will not stop at just Midgard, Loki.”

The world sent a chill through his spine. He did not ask how Helblindi knew, just as he did not wait to be criticised and questioned about his intent, and instead . . . _he ran_. The snow crunched underfoot, while the wind blew ever stronger. Every beat of his heart pained his chest and echoed in his ears. Loki wept and choked on the air, until he was finally alone in a desolate field and far away from the eyes of those around him. He went onward.

Loki did not look back. 


	15. Chapter 15

_‘We have bad news, Thor.’_

_Thor bounced Thrúd on his hip. He held tighter onto her small frame, as he buried his nose against her blonde hair, and – for a few seconds – he could almost believe that nothing was amiss and the realm was still filled with smiles and laughter. Thrúd blew raspberries, between chanted mantras of ‘dada, dada, dada’. He smiled, even as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and struggled to hold back his trembling lip._

_He cast his eyes to the Warriors Three; each one half-bowed at some distance, unwilling to come closer through the large antechamber, and he saw how their faces paled and their eyes fixated on the tiles underfoot. Thor fought back his increased heartbeat, even as every beat pounded loudly in his ears until all other sounds were drowned out. Thrúd sensed his discomfort. A few murmurs escaped her lips, while he bounced her with whispered shushes and fought to maintain a smile despite the overwhelming sense of dread. Thor asked:_

_‘Is Loki okay?’_

_Thor walked towards them, as he nodded for them to stand. Fandral scratched at his neck, while Volstagg kicked at the tiles with hands in his pockets, and Hogun uttered a cough that was the only sound aside from Thrúd. He searched each and every face. He fought back the urge to demand an answer, but only as the potential answer frightened him beyond all comprehension, and yet the lack of an answer proved just as much of a terror. Lost between ignorance and dawning comprehension, he swallowed hard as Fandral chanced out:_

_‘Well, yes . . . and . . . well . . ._ no _.’_

_He laughed and held Thrúd tightly against him. A sweeping sense of relief washed over him, as he let out a breath he only now realised was held for so long, and the ‘yes’ brought with it a sense of well-needed calm as Loki was at least alive. Still, the ‘no’ echoed about his mind and his friends continued to avoid his gaze. He knitted his eyebrows together, as his smile slowly faded from his lips, and he tasted the familiar burning of bile, as his fear brought with it his lunch from earlier. He swayed where he stood and took a step backward._

_‘I do not understand,’ whispered Thor._

_‘Helblindi has sent word from Jotunheim,’ said Fandral. ‘We had Heimdall confirm the facts, as Loki . . . ah . . . has gotten a_ teeny _bit sloppy in his spells the past few days. We’ve been able to view him, and it_ seems _that he’s in perfect health, although he may have deteriorated in his mental state, but we should be able to help him with a medical intervention.’_

_‘This is good news, yes?’ Thor let out a staggered sigh. ‘Let us go to Loki. It is time for me to return Thrúd to her mother, but we may then turn our sights to retrieving Loki from wherever he has hidden. Come. There is no time to wait and we must make haste.’_

_‘He has killed people, Thor. Our last estimate was two-dozen.’_

_‘He seeks to rule Midgard,’ added Hogun._

_A cold silence descended over the antechamber. Thor pressed his lips together in a dark line, as he drew in a deep breath and narrowed his eyes, and – carefully maintaining a constant pressure on Thrúd, lest he grip too hard from the course of adrenaline – he cast his eyes from face to face until reality finally was processed. This news would bode badly with Odin, while Helblindi would question their care of Loki. He needed to save Loki from himself, before any others were harmed or killed in his quest for revenge or closure._

_Thor nodded in acknowledgement of them; he cast his eye out beyond the open window, where a developing storm swirled about the clouds and darkened the sky, and each blast of thunder echoed so loud about the antechamber that Thrúd would cry at the sound. He could not control his heartbeat. He could not stop his racing mind. Thor marched toward the main doors to the hallway beyond, as he kept his eyes locked forward and roared out:_

_‘I must go to Loki at once.’_

_* * *_

Jane did not look well.

Thor flinched to see her sunken cheeks and sallow skin. It was difficult to recognise her under clothes that billowed around her slim frame, as if she had lost considerable weight, and she hugged her arms around her chest as if to hide her femininity, even as the considerable make-up sought to reclaim what may have been lost. There were soft gurgles behind her from Michael, who stirred in his crib left by the lounge windows, but Jane swayed where she stood.

He watched as Donald scooped Michael into his arms, before he excused himself into the bedroom with a dark glare sent towards Thor, and no words were exchanged even as the door slammed shut and a loud cry followed from the sharp sound. The silence was awkward, even as Thor dropped Thrúd to the floor and watched as she speedily crawled over to her play-mat, where she squealed in joy at a selection of new toys. Jane laughed and struggled to sit beside her. Every movement brought a wince of pain, along with panted breaths and gasps.

Thor glanced to the clock on the mantelpiece. He let his thoughts turn to Loki, who still struggled and suffered just beyond his reach, and yet – even as his heart raced and pounded – he forced himself to sit beside Jane and tried not to stare. The once rich locks of brown hair were completely gone, leaving just a silk scarf to cover an otherwise bald head, and he half-smiled to remember how it looked nearly black in the darkness. Thor whispered:

“You have cut off your hair?”

“Oh, this?” Jane asked.

Jane flinched and brought a hand to her head. A quick look to Thrúd made it clear she went unrecognised, especially when Thrúd constantly turned to Thor and babbled to him in baby talk, but Jane hid her pain well even as her eyes watered. They said nothing. They watched as Thrúd played and laughed, before she seemed to try ‘singing’ a tune taught to her by Sif, and soon Jane looked away with a trembling hand brought to her mouth, as she smiled a broken and devastated smile that only emphasised the lines about her features. Jane muttered:

“It was – ah – pre-emptive.”

“I do not understand,” said Thor. “What did you seek to pre-empt?”

“I told you I was sick, Thor,” confessed Jane. “Well, the treatment I’m given comes with a risk of hair loss. I didn’t want to wake up one day to clumps of hair falling out, and I don’t see why I should be ashamed of being sick, so I just decided to cut the whole lot off. I cried, I’ll admit, but I donated my hair to charity. At least a little girl somewhere will still feel pretty, so she won’t have to suffer like so many others have to suffer, you know?”

“I can understand why you would weep. I do not believe I would stand much better should someone force me to cut my hair, especially when it is a part of my identity and has always been a form of my self-expression. Still, what could have brought you to such depths that they would give you medicine so strong? What is it that ails you, Jane?”

“I have stage four breast cancer, Thor.” Jane blinked away tears. “It started in my breast, but it spread to my lymph nodes . . . my liver . . . I haven’t been able to do any field work in months, which is why my place is stacked with paperwork, and . . . I don’t know . . .”

“You will die, won’t you? You will die with Midgardian treatment.”

“I’m more afraid of leaving our daughter without a mother.”          

Thor sank back against the sofa. He stretched his legs out before him, as he leaned his head on the sofa cushion and stared at the ceiling, and he allowed the tears to form and fall from his eyes, even as he half-listened to the sounds around them. The television flashed images from inside a television cabinet; pictures of Loki in Midgardian attire came onto the screen, where he looked almost handsome were it not for the maddened look in his eyes.

Every instinct in his body told him to run to Loki, before he crossed any further lines, but the news was so heavy and cold that his muscles turned to stone, especially as he tried to picture a life without Frigga and how that would have affected him . . . _he would have to explain to Thrúd why her mother had passed, he would have to have talks with her that should have been given by Jane, and he would always know how Jane missed her larger life events_. . . he offered a broken laugh and shook his head. They always knew Thrúd would outlive Jane.

Still, he could not bear to look to Thrúd. He always believed Jane would live to see her become a teenager and a young woman, but instead Thrúd would grow to never so much as remember her face or remember the sound of her voice. Thrúd laughed and giggled, while Jane reached out to stroke at her blonde locks and brush her rosy cheeks, and the two of them looked almost perfect in a world of their own making, as he swallowed hard and asked:

“How long have you known?”

“My mammogram was six weeks ago,” admitted Jane. “I had surgery a couple weeks later to remove the lump, and started chemotherapy last Tuesday, so . . . if I throw up all over the place -? Please, know it’s nothing personal. I honestly can’t control it.”

“I don’t understand, Jane. _How_ did this happen?”

“It’s _cancer_ , Thor. It happens here all the time . . . I wish I could say it was someone’s fault, and sometimes I blame myself for not getting a check-up sooner, but we’re really just focusing on giving me as much time as possible right now. I want to see Michael and Thrúd grow just a little bit more, even if I don’t see their graduations. I just want _time_.”

“Once I find Loki, I _swear_ I will help you find a cure,” swore Thor. “We can try healing stones or see if there is an elixir, while I have heard stories of healing fountains and my father has great magic inherited from our forefathers, and if not then we may –”

“No, Thor,” whispered Jane. “No magic.”

Thor sat upright with a frown. He saw the tears down her cheeks, as they left trails down her foundation, and – with eyes blurred from the sting of sweat and tears in turn – he reached out a trembling hand to touch her shoulder. The sensation of bone beneath thin cotton was enough for him to flinch, but he soon brought his hand back and rubbed at her collarbone with his thumb, even as she laughed kindly at his discomfort. It was as if she endured such reactions quite often, which was a thought that only added to his sense of sadness.

“I _really_ don’t trust magic.”

“It could save your life, Jane,” pleaded Thor.

“It’s unnatural, Thor.” A tear ran down her cheek. “Doesn’t that sort of thing always come with a price? Plus, how do we know how it’ll interact with Earth medicines or my physiology? I – I have the best doctors here that money can buy. Donald is a doctor, too, so I have everything I could need, and we’ll fight it with every ounce of strength we possess, and if this is how I die . . . I at least went down swinging on _my_ terms.”

The smile on her lips betrayed her concern. Tears ran freely down her cheeks, as her lips trembled and her hands shook, but – with a loud cry – Thrúd toddled over to her and smacked her nose with enough strength to make Jane yelp with a small bruise. Thrúd muttered something that sounded like ‘pain go away’, before pouting with hands folded across her small chest, and that was all it took for Jane to finally break. Jane threw her arms around Thrúd and held her tightly against her chest, while she wept through her laughter.

Thor watched as so many emotions swept over Jane, before he scooted beside her and draped an arm around her shoulder and allowed her to weep against him, and smiled as Thrúd crawled onto his lap with a furrowed brow and wet eyes. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and half-played with her, as she pulled and prodded and poked at his hand in an attempt to grab more of his attention, but soon she gave up with a sigh and went back to her toys.

Thrúd grabbed at strange plush toy. It was red-and-blue, while shaped like a man with overly large eyes and no mouth, but she appeared to have fun with waving him wildly in the air, as Jane slowly composed herself and ceased her cries. The television flickered with images of Coulson and another unrecognisable face, but he ignored the images as Jane sat upright with a few sniffs and wiped away her tears with a trembling lip and broken smile.

“You are a brave woman, Jane,” whispered Thor.

“I think a braver woman would do anything she could to stay alive,” confessed Jane. “I thought about asking you for help; I honest to God nearly _did_ , especially when I looked at our family photographs and realised what I’d be missing, but I’m so _tired_ of being sick and being in pain and I want my last few days with them to be filled with love and awareness, not –”

“Not artificially extended, when we cannot guarantee the risks?”

“What if I end up altered or unable to spend quality time with them, Thor?”

“You must understand, Jane. When you can literally move mountains, nothing is more galling than to feel _helpless . . ._ especially when those you so respect are in such pain. I have spent the past three days wondering how I could have saved Loki, but now with you -?”

“Hey, I’ve made peace with my decision.” Jane wiped at her eyes. “I know Loki has been causing chaos, which – _by the way_ – we need to have a lot of words about, _especially_ if he is going to Thrúd’s stepfather, but once you get him back in Asgard and fix whatever is wrong with him -? We need to discuss what happens when I . . . when I _die_.”

A cold silence descended on them. It was the first time Thor recalled the word ‘die’ being used, but it automatically forced his muscles to tense and his jaw to clench, and he was unable to tear his eyes away from Thrúd who fell on her back and waved her toy in the air with ‘zoom’ noises, as if the man were instead a ship or a plane. He smiled and reached out to ruffle her hair, but she simply threw her toy at his face with a laugh. Thor frowned, gently tossing it back, before she threw it at him again. Jane laughed and asked:

“Did Thrúd get on okay in Asgard?”

Thor laughed through more tears, as he tossed the toy back at Thrúd. The teasing gesture soon became a genuine game, with loud squeals of joy every time Thrúd caught the toy, but every time she missed she would pout and say ‘dada oaf’. The word was fortunately misheard or misunderstood by Jane, but Thor knew – with a smile and shake of his head – Loki must have spent some time with Thrúd despite his desperate desire to feign distance.

“Thrúd now calls me ‘Dada’,” chirped Thor.

“No kidding? That’s good news!”

“I feel we have made a strong bond.” Thor smiled and patted her head. “I see in Thrúd a human curiosity and passion, but I also see an Asgardian strength and compassion. It is simply my regret that I could not spend as much time with her as I desired, but my mother is absolutely smitten with Thrúd and my father has spoiled her to excess.”

“You must have made an impression for her to call you ‘Dada’.”

“Yes, but the Nine Realms are still in chaos.” Thor frowned and sighed. “I first _chose_ to surround myself with battle and diplomacy, but I then took vast time away from such matters to attend to Loki and Thrúd, and then even time away from Thrúd to tend to Loki. I took time away from everyone to help him, but nothing I have done seems to have helped!”

“I listened to your father while I was in Asgard, Thor,” said Jane. “You were needed in battle as only those of royal blood have such strong _seiðr_ , and you were needed in diplomatic missions as prince regent, and you did _everything_ for everyone around you! Even now, you’re too busy fixated on helping me and not helping yourself. Loki -? Loki _clearly_ needs some sort of sectioning and medical treatment, and you’re not a doctor or a healer, Thor.”

“Then I should have insisted he see one!”

Thor stood and paced about the lounge. The tiny apartment was filled with stacks of papers and files, along with various discs and computers, and he saw in Jane’s passion for her work a small hint of Loki, who would spend days and weeks lost in his studies. The wind and rain howled outside, as they pounded against the windows, and he buried a hand into his hair as he briefly closed his eyes and strove to block out the sounds. Thor stopped to tent his hands before his mouth, as he forced himself to breathe deep and choked out in a quiet voice:

“I searched _everywhere_ for him, I swear.”

“I believe you,” said Jane.

“The past three days, I worried he was _dead_.” Thor ran his hands over his face. “Now Helblindi and Heimdall have sent word of his deeds, and I am too cowardly to face him, because to face him is to admit I failed him and to see him beyond my help. I swore I would always protect him . . . he was my twin, my friend, my lover . . . I have failed him, Jane.”

Jane struggled to stand upright. A hand reached for the arm of the sofa, as she pulled herself to her feet with a visible sweat breaking over her skin, but – before Thor could run to her side – she lifted a trembling hand and shook her head, while dragging herself across the room so that she could collapse against the far wall for support. Thor opened his mouth to speak words of comfort, but the bedroom door was flung open and Donald ran into the room.

Thor tensed. He remembered one past indiscretion as a teenager, which resulted in a partner storming toward him in demand of revenge, and a small part of him instinctively went towards Donald believing himself slighted by Thor’s presence, but . . . he ignored Thor. Donald simply slid Michael into Jane’s arms, with a muttered apology and a quick touch of her cheek with his hand, before he ran full speed to the television remote and changed stations with a fast press of a button. Thrúd looked up at him with knitted eyebrows.

“Hey,” called Donald. “You guys need to watch this!”

Thor and Jane slowly walked towards the sofas. Jane sat on one with a loud sigh of relief, as she clasped Michael to her chest and closed her eyes, but Thor – with a dawning sense of comprehension – stood with wide eyes and open mouthed. The image on the screen was of a night-time cityscape, but the camera was fixated on a single man before a kneeling crowd . . . the camera shook and wavered from a high position, perhaps from a helicopter . . . the man below was dressed in Asgardian attire with familiar golden horns. Thor asked:

“What is this?”

Donald turned up the volume.

_‘ – simpler? Is this not your natural state? It’s the unspoken truth of humanity that you crave subjugation; the bright lure of freedom diminishes your life’s joy in the mad scramble for power, for identity. You were made to be ruled. In the end –’_

Thor snatched away the remote.

A press of a button turned off the television, even as the image of Loki remained fixated on his memory and replayed over and over with intense clarity, and Thor – as he marched towards Mjölnir, who hung from the coat-rack – struggled to breathe through white-hot rage and intense panic that sent waves of adrenaline coursing through every vein. He said nothing, even as Thrúd and Michael murmured and giggled and cried, but Donald came to stand not far from him in the long hallway with a curled lip and narrowed eye. Thor called out:

“I must go to Loki.”

“Your husband-slash-brother is _slaughtering_ people,” spat Donald.

“My husband is severely ill and _potentially_ pregnant.” Thor pointed a finger in warning. “I will have no cruel words said about him, even if his actions are abhorrent and misguided. He has been in contact with one beyond our reach . . . he has been manipulated in his madness, with an army of Chitauri at his beck and call. This does not bode well.”

“It doesn’t bode well for the _eighty-odd_ people he murdered, at least according to the latest reports, and isn’t this _after_ he tried to murder you back in New Mexico? What do you even plan on doing when you capture him? Do they have the death penalty on Asgard?”

“ _You will watch your tongue when talking of a prince_!”

Thor saw red. He stormed forward and stopped only when Jane stood before Donald, with Michael in her arms and her bloodshot eyes wide in surprise, and – shaking the fist of his free hand – Thor roared out in anger and screamed out his pain. Thunder raged outside. Thrúd burst into tears while Michael wailed, and Donald took the hint to remain silent and stumbled over to Thrúd with arms wide and a feigned smile. Thor gasped for breath and snatched at the handle to the front door, as he wrenched it open and spat out:

“Jane, I will return when I am able.”

Thor swept out of the apartment; he slammed shut the door behind him, as he ran down the staircase with Mjölnir already swinging in circles in anticipation. He swallowed back his fear and frustration, until finally outside in the rain and the cold, and threw his hammer high into the air and allowed it to drag him with its speed and strength. The world blurred around him, as his hearted pounded in his ears and his blood ran cold. He knew only one thing:

Loki needed him.


	16. Chapter 16

“Where is the Tesseract?”

Thor clenched hard on Mjölnir. He held tight until knuckles turned white; nails dug red crescent-shaped marks against his skin, while cheeks flushed red and eyes grew bloodshot, and yet – as he pushed Loki back against the cliff – a few tears threatened to fall. A dark realisation fell on him, as he saw the tremble to Loki’s lips. He widened his eyes and stepped back, as he ran a hand through his hair, and the cold wind blew harsh at his cape.

In the air, two ravens circled with loud caws. The black sky was littered with clouds, enough to hide the few stars from sight, and a cold chill brought goosebumps to his skin, as he looked over Loki in a desperate search for any bruises or burns. He appeared uninjured. He stood with scratched leather attire and a curled lip, while his hair was slicked back with both grease and gels, and his skin was so pale . . . _so sickly_. . . Thor hunched forward. Every muscle fell limp and loose, as the adrenaline worked its way through his veins. He stepped forward.

Thor reached out to clasp a hand around Loki’s neck. The skin was clammy and cold, but it was _real_ and far from an illusion. He ran a callused thumb down a sharp jaw, while he leaned towards Loki and pressed their foreheads together, and he half-smiled through his tears to feel a warm breath mingled with his own, as he dropped Mjölnir and brought his other hand to run through black hair with slow strokes. Loki laughed and closed his eyes. Thor wept.

“I missed you, too,” teased Loki.

“Do you know how afraid we were?” Thor asked. “There was a short few seconds where I truly believed you were dead; I feared I would break down into hysterics on the news, even as I clasped Thrúd and stood before my friends, and then they told me you were alive . . . I was relieved, but I am also so _furious_ with you! How could you leave me like that?”

“Did you mourn?” Loki gently pushed him back. “You were going to have me _tossed_ aside to the healers, Thor! I am _not_ a child to whom you can force such treatment, as if you have a right to pry and poke into the inner workings of my mind. To hell with you!”

“It was a last resort and one I knew nothing about,” swore Thor.

Loki laughed. It was dark and dangerous, reminiscent of their first and only real fight, and it was still so easy to picture him in full armour with Gungnir in hand, while he threatened a ‘visit’ on Jane and sort to tear apart Jotunheim piece by piece. Loki sauntered over to the edge, where he pressed both feet half-on and half-over. He swayed in the breeze, as he threw back his head to capture the breeze, and Thor – with a cold sweat over his skin – fought the urge to walk closer lest Loki jump. It was difficult to see through tears and sweat.

“My mind cannot be so easily fixed,” whispered Loki.

“Do you forget that I also endured that same rape?” A tear rolled onto Thor’s lip. “I do not claim to understand all you suffered . . . the lies of our father, the knowledge of your race, the expectation of an heir . . . if you blame me, Loki, attack _me_. Do you know what trouble your actions have wrought? You have killed innocent people. You have caused chaos in –”

“Are you here to retrieve a prisoner or save a spouse?”

The question cut deep into Thor.

He tasted the salt of his tears, even as more fell from his eyes. The cold breeze chilled his skin, but appeared to bring only comfort to Loki, and he chanced a few steps toward the ledge even as the ravens found a place to perch and watch from afar. He stopped a few feet behind Loki, where he summoned forth Mjölnir in a desperate need for something to occupy his hand. Thor played with the leather straps and kept his head low.

The sharp breeze blew at his long locks. A terrible guilt forced his stomach to roll, even as bile rose to the back of his throat, as he knew too well the anger and betrayal that Odin and Frigga would feel on realising Thor left alone . . . no words to them about their son, no time to allow them to send others in his stead . . . Thor chanced a reach out toward Loki. He placed a hand on the shoulder before him, where he squeezed and attempted to massage through the leather, but any knots or tension was impossible to feel through the thick layers.

“Father does not know I am here,” said Thor.

“Oh, I _beg_ to differ,” spat Loki.

“Aye, he may have been told since.” Thor clenched his hand around Mjölnir. “That does not mean that I came here at his behest, however. I immediately came to Earth, the _second_ I knew your location; I left Thrúd with Jane, I fled in search of you, and now I implore you. Your slights are _very_ real, Loki, but you have no right to take the realm I love in recompense. The Earth is under my protection, just as you are my highest priority in life. I will save you both.”

“You’re doing _such_ a marvellous job.” Loki laughed and shook his head. “The humans slaughter each other in droves, while you idly fight battles in the Nine Realms that could be won by mere foot-soldiers, and why is that, I wonder? Do you still seek to self-harm through battle to ease your guilt? Do you seek to distract yourself from those that need you most?”

“I cannot be in twelve places at once! I am required in some battles to turn the tides. I am needed by Jane who is _dying_ of cancer. I am wanted by my daughter that deserves a father. I am . . . I am failing you, who I have sought to spend every waking moment beside . . .”

“I cannot be cured by the ‘power of love’, Thor.”

Thor let out a growled sigh, as he pulled Loki around and dropped Mjölnir. Loki widened his eyes and stumbled, even as Thor snatched at his upper arms and pulled him away from the edge, and – with rage and fear mingling together – he embraced Loki with muscular arms wrapped tightly around his torso. He expected no reciprocation, even he buried his face into the crook of Loki’s neck with a long inhale of breath, but Loki brought his hands upward to hold onto his shoulders and rested his head on his chest in turn.  

It was an intimate and reassuring position. They stood locked together for a long minute, until Loki pushed Thor back a few steps and walked back toward the cliff-face, where he collapsed back and folded his arms, and Thor could only walk slowly towards him with a hand clasped to his chest, as he tried to rub away the pain that spread through him. He drew in a shuddered breath, as Loki rolled his head from side to side with low murmurs.

“Come home, Loki,” begged Thor.

“Why?” Loki smirked. “Odin Borson will place me in the dungeons. He will claim it is the only place where he can be certain I will not harm myself, but we both know that it will be punishment for my having broken house-arrest and traversed the realms without his knowledge, and we both know I shall deserve it. Mother shall send the healers to me, but I shall tell them nothing and they shall expect nothing. I shall be forced to take medicines.

“They will alter the chemical balance of my brain, while I shall be a mere shell of my former self and lose my entire identity, and – despite my fears of losing myself – you shall remind me that _I am already lost_ , as you visit me despite my desire not to see you, and this shall be my living hell until the day I die, all because I mean to rule these mortals.”

“No, you think yourself above them,” spat Thor.

“Well, yes,” confessed Loki.

“You miss the truth of ruling, Husband. A throne would suit you ill, at least until you can learn to heal your mind and prioritise your health over your rage. You would be an excellent King Consort . . . you think I consider your place _at_ my side, but I consider your place _by_ my side as an equal and as a king in his own right. Rule _with_ me, Loki . . . on Asgard.”

Loki scoffed and stormed away. He shoved Thor to the side, as he marched toward the edge of the cliff and threw himself down, and let his legs swing over the side like a child, while he clenched at the rock with a firm grip. Thor stood still. He brought his hands over his mouth to help breathe deep, even as Loki hunched forward, and the small swell to his stomach appeared exaggerated with the gesture. Loki let out a sound between laughter and broken tears, with ragged and choked breaths, and Thor slowly walked towards him. Loki sneered:

“I have seen worlds you have never _known,_ Odinson.”

“Then show me,” begged Thor. “Show me.”

“I have grown in my exile!” Tears streamed down Loki’s face. “I have met with those whose power far exceeded mine, and I have met with those so weak that they are mere ants to a boot. I have seen the true power of the Tesseract, Thor, and when I wield it –”

“Who showed you this power? Who controls the would-be king?”

“ _I am a king_!”

Thor knelt down behind him. A quick grab of his shoulder caught Loki’s full attention, but a turn of his head – green eyes brimming with tears – revealed a deep trauma beyond his comprehension, and Thor screwed shut his eyes in an attempt to hide from the sight. He struggled to fight his racing heart, while his hand on Loki trembled, and a terrible sensation of pins-and-needles stabbed through his skin. There was a loud noise in the distance, similar to roaring engines or speeding machinery. He ignored it to plead one more time:  

“Give up this poisonous dream, Loki. Come home.”

“I _so_ wish the Bifrost were destroyed,” spat Loki. “You would be unable to bring me home without the Tesseract, which would afford me further control, but – as things stand – allow me to say that I have sent the Tesseract off to I know not where . . . do you really think Thanos would let Midgard stand should it fall in his hands? You _need_ it back, Thor.”

“You are keeping its location secret as blackmail,” spat Thor. “You would truly allow a stranger from another realm to destroy Earth, simply to complete whatever designs you have to rule a realm where you have no right to rule? This is madness!”

“The humans would say there is method to my madness.”

“Listen well, Husband, I –”

A large blow struck Thor from the side. He struggled to focus his eyes, as the world zoomed as a blur around him and the trees from above soon were seen from below, and – as he fought and struck – he realised this was a man made from metal. A soaring of rage roared through every nerve in his body, as the adrenaline coursed through every vein, and his heart pounded loud in his ears with every beat. Thor screamed out his fury. He struggled to breathe as his mouth ran dry, even as Mjölnir flew towards his hand from sheer instinct.

A battle was about to commence.

* * *

“He really grows on you, doesn’t he?”

Bruce pushed away the tablet. He ran a hand over his face, which appeared aged with stress and fatigue, and Thor saw – beyond the smile – lines at the corners of his eyes that spoke of great emotion and a long history beyond the obvious. There was depth to this man, who toyed with his pen in a nervous habit. Natasha sat not far to his side, with hands tented before her and eyes narrowed into virtual slits, while Steve stood to the sidelines with arms folded.

A cold silence came over the helicarrier, as Thor stared absently into the distance. The words of Loki echoed in his mind, each one playing over and over, and he lowered his hand to the metal of the table, where the cold touch grounded him in his emptiness. He finally stilled his heart, even as his stomach rolled and brought with it a sense of intense nausea. The room whirred with the sounds of various machines. Thor looked again to the nearest screen, where Loki could be seen pacing and swaying and humming, as if nought were amiss.

“Loki’s going to drag this out,” spat Steve.

Thor jumped and came back to reality. He rapidly blinked and looked to Steve, who stood with perfect posture and eyes focussed, and – as Thor trailed his eyes over his form – he caught the impression of one military trained and with experience in battle. Thor vaguely remembered the valkyries from his childhood, along with warriors who drank and laughed and joked with his father at celebratory parties, and a part of him paid close attention to the man that commanded respect. Steve nodded toward him and asked in a low voice:

“Thor, what’s his play?”

“He has an army called the Chitauri,” muttered Thor. “They are not of Asgard or any world known, but – with the intelligence of Asgard and Jotunheim – we can be certain they were gifted to him by an entity named ‘Thanos’. Loki means to lead them against your people. I suspect he will give the Tesseract to Thanos in return for rule over Midgard.”

“So he’s building another portal,” said Bruce. “It’s – ah – kind of hard to believe that he’s seeking to bring down an army from outer space, isn’t it? I guess that’s why he needs Selvig, because – god or not – there’s no way he can build a portal alone.”

“Selvig? He is a friend of mine. Loki has him?”

Thor crossed an arm over his chest, while his other hand rose to his lips. He lifted an eyebrow and searched from face to face, as he parted his lips and hoped – with a deep breath and quickening heart – that this boded well. Selvig was the voice of reason, which was something Loki sorely needed in his time of pain. Thor licked at his lips. It took only a few seconds for his hopes to be dashed, as he saw how no one met his eyes and how Bruce took to removing his glasses to rub at his nose with a sigh, as if he could not bear to look at him.

A quick glance back to the screen revealed Loki with hands behind his back, as he lowered his head until the bags under his eyes looked painted black on his skin, and he smirked so devilishly toward the camera that it seemed he was staring into Thor’s soul. Thor slammed a button on the nearest remote and turned off the screen. He turned back to Natasha, who was the only one willing to meet his eye, even as she kept a stoic expression.

“Loki has Selvig under some sort of spell,” said Natasha.

“That is not an easy spell for him to cast.”

“He also has one of ours under the same spell.” Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Our current concern is _why_ Loki let us take him, as he certainly isn’t ruling his army from these heights, and he appears unwilling to provide us with any information. There’s something wrong.”

“I don’t think we should focus on Loki,” murmured Bruce. “That guy’s brain is like a bag filled with cats . . . you can just _smell_ the crazy all over him. It’s not worth it.”

“Have care how you speak,” spat Thor.

A hand clenched into a tight fist. Thor drew in a deep breath until his chest expanded, and he lifted his head to point a raised index finger toward Bruce, where – with pursed lips and flared nostrils – he used every ounce of self-control to hold back the burning rage, even as his heart pounded in his ears. The room fell quiet once more, as Thor curled his lip and stepped forward until he was a few inches from Bruce and close enough to strike. Thor spat:

“Loki may be beyond reason, but he is of Asgard. He is my _husband_.”

“He killed eighty people in two days,” said Natasha.

“It was an arranged marriage,” muttered Thor.

It was difficult to hide the blush to his cheeks. Thor walked away from Bruce, giving him some space and allowing Bruce let out a long breath, and threw himself against a far wall where he reached both hands towards his temples. He missed the days when Loki would reach to him behind closed doors, with long and graceful fingers, and massage away the tension with a devilish grin and a nod toward the bed, where he would make sure to rid Thor of any doubts and fears and frustrations. Thor drew in a staggered breath and swallowed hard.

“I fear I contributed to his madness,” admitted Thor.

“Thor, you can’t blame yourself,” said Bruce.

“Loki and I have endured much these past few months.” Thor ran a hand over his face. “It was a matter that we struggled to resolve, but lately . . . we were trying for an heir. I have no proof to support my suspicions, while I dare not mention this before Loki, but I suspect that he may be hiding a pregnancy and this may have added to his emotional stress.”

“Wait?” Steve asked. “He’s _pregnant_? How is that possible?”

“He is Jotun of birth. If we were to speak only of biology, his father is full-Jotun and his mother is half-Jotun, which has led to him being able to conceive a child despite male genitalia and a male physique. If it comes to battle, I pray you bear this in mind.”

Bruce let out a long hum. He moved his hand towards the tablet, which he brought towards him with a furrowed brow, and Thor – as he watched – caught Bruce jotting down a few hurried notes with lips moving to some internal dialogue. Natasha continued to look as impassive as before, but Steve would open and close his mouth as if he were a fish thrown onto land, and his eyebrows knitted together with great force. Steve soon raised a hand and signalled towards Thor, even as a deep blush overtook his cheeks, and stated:

“I may have a few follow-up questions.”

Natasha finally cracked a half-smile, as she shook her head, while Bruce chuckled and brought up images of Loki on a large screen, which read his temperature and vital signs with an admirable accuracy, and – as he flicked through image on image – Thor looked away and winced, afraid that he might see confirmation of the pregnancy he suspected . . . a cause behind Loki’s madness that he should have foreseen. Thor let out a staggered breath.

“First things first,” said Bruce. “Why did he need Iridium?”

* * *

Thor held onto Loki’s face.

The green eyes were shimmered with unshed tears. Thor noted the black bags beneath them, even as light caught from his horned headpiece and sent painful beams of light in his vision, and his pale skin flushed a strange shade of red, as if overcome with emotion. Loki froze in Thor’s embrace, as both stood on the tall building with the city before them. The cacophony of noise around them almost deafened Thor to the sounds of that panting breath.

Thor pressed his forehead to Loki, as a harsh breeze blew against them. The city continued to burn. The sky was alive with Chitauri, military ships, and various superheroes, as the world sought to take down the imminent threat, and every space was filled with crashes and clatters and cries from those far below . . . _desperate pleas for help, broken moans of pain_. . . Thor fought the urge to look to them. The smoke from the falling letters of Stark Tower – along with debris and dust – drifted through the air and into his lungs, as he struggled for breath.

It brought tears to his eyes to see Loki. He pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, while he uttered forth a broken laugh and stroked at those soft cheeks, and yet – even as sheer relief coursed through him – there remained a lingering fear that this all may be too late. Loki pulled back with a shuddered breath; tears spilled over his cheeks and onto his lips, while his eyes flittered with great speed over Thor’s face with a wide-eyed fear.

“Look at this,” pleaded Thor. “Look around you.”

Loki sought to pull away, but Thor held him in place. A move of his hands forced that sharp face to look over the chaos and destruction, while Loki’s lips trembled and the tears fell free, and – as he cast his gaze wide and low – a dawning realisation crossed his features. Loki let loose a small gasp, while he strove to pull away once more, but Thor grabbed tight to his upper arms and held him in place, while he feared bruising those toned muscles. Thor struggled to breathe, as his heart raced in his ears and sounded loud. He pleaded:

“Do you think this madness will end with your rule?”

A loud crash echoed out through the cityscape. Thor caught sight of a far explosion, where a burst of fire rushed through the air and warmed their skin even through the distance, and – as Thor let out a broken gasp – Loki pulled away from him. Loki stumbled back. A dangerous laugh escaped his lips, as he buried a hand into his hair and gripped tight enough that a few strands came loose, and soon his knuckles turned white as he choked for breath.

“It’s too late,” whispered Loki.

“We can stop it together, Loki. _Together_.”

Loki wept. The tears streamed down his face, even as his laughter continued forth, and he marched further along the building to its very edge, where – with a sharp stab of chest pain – Thor lurched forward to grab at his wrist. Loki luckily turned at the last second, forcing Thor to mask his sudden gesture as a clumsy attempt to stand at his side, but the curled lip spoke of a man who knew the truth . . . Loki jerked out of his way. A dance began between them. Thor dove continually for Loki, who dove just out of reach each time with saddened sobs.

“This is all that I have, Thor,” murmured Loki.

“No, Loki. You have _family_. Do you know Thrúd is repeating phrases you taught her? Do you know how Mother still talks only about you? Do you know that I cannot sleep when you are not beside me? I would die for you. I would kill for you. If you come back to Asgard, we can work together to rid your mind of this illness. Please, Husband!”

“The Chitauri are already here.” Tears rolled down pale cheeks. “Father hates me, Thor. I disappointed him even when I strove to do him proud, just as I see the heartbreak in your eyes whenever you look at me . . . I cannot be the husband you so crave.”

“You are all I crave, Loki . . . you and you alone.”

Loki stopped. He stood still, while wide eyes took in Thor. A peaceful quiet passed between them, even as Thor ran forward and whisked Loki into a warm embrace, and he wept even as he buried his face into that long column of neck. A sweat broke over his palms, while his mouth ran dry and his body shook from sheer emotion. Thor pulled back with trembling lips. He sniffed and sobbed, even as he placed kiss after kiss to cheeks and forehead and neck, unable to get enough even as he sought for more. Loki did not react.

“Foolish sentimentality,” murmured Loki.

 _A flash of movement. A stab of pain_. Thor cried out and doubled over . . . he fell to his knees, hand grasping on Loki’s sleeve only to slip away . . . he glanced down with blurred eyes to see a dagger lodged into his side, where blood seeped from the wound. He curled his lips and looked to see shaking hands and a contorting face, as Loki stumbled and swayed as if in a daze, and mimed the words ‘I’m sorry’ with that terrifying laughter.

Loki ran towards the ledge. A dark terror overwhelmed Thor, as he watched the world move in slow-motion, and – screaming out with desperate helplessness – he watched Loki throw himself from the edge . . . cold adrenaline shot through his veins, while his heart stopped dead in his chest. Thor choked on tears and bile and mucus. He struggled to stand and ran after Loki, as if he may still stand a chance at grabbing him before he hit the bottom . . . _grab Mjölnir, jump down, gather speed . . ._ Loki appeared before he could jump.

A Chitauri vehicle hovered in the air, while Loki grasped to their back. They paused. The two men looked at one another with realisation and betrayal, each one eying the other with wide eyes and open mouths, until Loki slapped the Chitauri and fled from sight. Thor fell back a few steps, as he laughed and spat and cried . . . relief coursed through him, but livid rage consumed him. A loud scream escaped his lungs. He made a final decision.

Thor followed in hot pursuit.

* * *

Loki looked broken.

The smooth floor was in perfect condition. Loki lay there with a strange grace, even as a few cuts marred his pale skin and split his plump lips, and visible bruises could be seen across his hand and knuckles, while he drew in slow and deep breaths. The scattered glass around him betrayed the devastated state of the master suite, even as the other Avengers gathered around to aim their weapons at him in stark warning of what could and would follow.

It would have been easy to believe this a graceful defeat, were it not for the Hulk that sat on Loki with the occasional grunt and snarl, and Thor – with body slumping forward in sheer relief – let out a staggered breath to realise that no harm befell Loki. The earlier warning of a potential pregnancy was taken to heart; it may have been that Loki would have been beaten into submission at any other point, but instead the Hulk subdued him with weight and strength alone. Thor smiled and tried to ignore the dark look sent in his direction.  

“If it’s all the same to you,” said Loki, “I think I’ll have that drink now.”

The Hulk stood with a grunt. Clint kept his bow aimed at Loki’s shoulder, while Steve stood at some distance with shield ready to be thrown, and – with grunts and groans and growls – the ‘other guy’ soon shifted into the familiar form of Bruce. Thor watched him in his peripheral vision, where he saw Bruce struggle to tie the fragments of his trousers and keep his modesty, even as Tony tossed him a jacket and told him to keep the item.

Tony headed toward the bar, as Loki struggled to sit upright. Thor bit into his lip and headed to his side, where he helped him towards the upturned sofa with arm around his waist, and – as he lowered Loki against the cushions – he winced to hear a low moan of pain and quickly ran his hands over his frame. There appeared to be only minor damage. A low sigh escaped his lips, while he waved over Natasha who handcuffed Loki’s hands with a curled lip and purposely tightened them to catch the skin. Loki hissed and jerked his hands away.

A small cut appeared on Loki’s skin; he rubbed just underneath the metal and muttered about escape being easy, but was soon silenced by a firm hand on his shoulder, and – even as Thor squeezed in warning – Clint shot out a bolt from his bow. It shot into the cushion an inch from Loki’s head with an upbeat ‘sorry’, while Tony only laughed from the bar with a glass of whiskey in hand. Tony walked straight for Loki, only to be stopped by a hand from Steve.

“Tony, is that safe to drink in his condition?”

“What _about_ my condition?” Loki spat. “What has my oaf of a husband told you? Here I am defeated, likely to be chained and muzzled and brought to a cell on Asgard, and here you are talking as if I am no more a prisoner and no less a child. I can _hear_ you fine.”

“One drink should be safe,” observed Thor. “Your alcohol is mild and his physique is strong, as such it shall not harm any unborn child. It will calm his nerves, which – as much as I can see from your expressions why that may be a concern – I can assure you a _calm_ Loki is a far less terrifying sight than a _cornered_ Loki. Do not encourage his rightful anxiety.”

“Oh, what right do you have to _assume_ I am with child?”

“Are you _not_ with child, Loki?”

“No, I am _not_ ,” lied Loki.

Thor rolled his eyes with a scoff. He kept his hand on that bony shoulder, even as Tony sauntered forward and offered forth a small tumbler of whiskey, and – with a snatch and sneer – Loki downed the drink with a sigh of appreciation. Thor took the empty glass with a free hand and offered it back, while Tony simply took it with a quirked eyebrow and curious glance toward Loki who complained loudly about the quality of the liquid.

No more words were said. Thor stood behind Loki and massaged his shoulders, mostly from a nervous habit and a desire to keep Loki within his touch, and he closed his eyes to listen to whispered complaints and promised threats of retribution. He opened his eyes only to see Maria Hill within the doorway, as she stood alongside a series of several guards. There were long chains in her hands, which appeared to be from adamantium-vibranium, and she stopped only a few feet from Loki with a cold look toward Thor. Loki said through laughter:

“Thor, I never realised this was your kink.”

“Do I _look_ to be in a gaming mood?”

“Do I _look_ to be pregnant?”

Thor pulled his hands away. Loki tilted his head back, so that he could cast cold eyes to Thor, and – with flared nostrils and clenched fists – Thor stared back with no words, as each refused to make matters worse and yet were unwilling to make matters better. It was impossible not to glance back to the small swell on Loki’s stomach, even as Loki sneered and threw himself forward to hide the forming lump with a hunch. The silence pervaded.

“Guys,” said Tony. “Can we speed this along?”

Maria rattled the chains, even as Loki rolled his eyes. Thor marched around the upturned sofa and snatched them from her hands, albeit with a muttered apology for the aggressive gesture, and immediately sank to his knees before Loki. He made quick work of shackling hands together, feet together, and testing the chains between the two and the one that ran to a collar on his long neck, before using brute strength to rip off the original handcuffs. Thor drew in a deep breath, even as he remained on one knee before Loki who continued to smirk.

“Loki will require a muzzle,” muttered Thor.

“Er, okay, _why_?” Tony asked.

“We experienced similar issues with a sorceress of ours named Lorelei.” Thor winced. “Loki can cast magic with an innate _seiðr_ , often with intense meditation or the use of tools, but – as a last resort – he can use words to weave such spells. We will not be able to make an immediate departure, but as such . . . it will be safer to be sure he can cast no such spells.”

“Whoa there!” Steve threw up his hands and stepped forward. “You plan to take Loki back to Asgard? Do you know how many _thousands_ of people died here today as a result of his actions? He needs to face justice and atone for his sins. He has to stay here.”

“I would love to stay here, but I’m not a fan of shawarma,” teased Loki.

“Loki shall face Asgardian justice,” interrupted Thor. “We will take the Tesseract out of your reach, where it shall be kept safe from those hands that would turn it to an evil purpose, and it shall lie personally under my surveillance in the Vault of Odin. Loki may be a war criminal, but he will answer for his crimes by those that can best understand them.”

Steve stormed forward and came beside Maria. He threw out a hand that signalled towards Loki, somehow both passive and aggressive with but one chop, and – as he fisted his free hand – Maria folded her arms and stared into the distance. The world beyond was a blur of sirens and screams, as the humans sought to restore order to their realm, and already Thor could hear the sound of complaints and compliments issuing forth from a television screen, as Pepper turned up the volume in the distance beside Coulson who grasped her shoulder.

Tony drank at the bar with the distant and dazed expression of a trauma victim, while Bruce sat crouched only a few feet from him with head buried into his hands, and Natasha busied herself with many calls and commands to the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents that swarmed the apartment, even as Loki hummed a strange tune with no concern for their reactions. Steve let out a hiss of breath, as he jabbed his hand towards Loki once more and stepped ever closer.

“He hardly seems repentant,” observed Steve.

“I’m not,” said Loki. “Like, _at all_.”

“He is seeking to provoke you,” spat Thor. “If you would allow me to call forth a friend, I shall make sure they watch him with a close eye, both for his safety and for yours. I owe it to your people to help clean up the mess that has been made, while I imagine there are many questions that you will have that require an answer, but . . . I will be unable to spend longer than a day or so at most. Loki is my priority and he must be brought to Asgard.”

“Thor, I – I want to thank you,” mumbled Bruce. “We couldn’t have stopped Loki without you, and – without what you said – there’s every chance the Other Guy would have hurt Loki and I . . . I would have lived with the guilt of that lost child forever, but – well – that being said -? I never want to see or hear your husband’s name ever again.”

“Did he tell you we’re also brothers?” Loki added.

“You will _never_ see Loki again,” swore Thor. “I will always be here should you need me, and I shall make sure Heimdall knows to watch your realm with a close eye, but Loki shall remain forever on Asgard until such a time comes that he can prove his trustworthiness. I cannot apologise enough for having let our personal matters drive him to such depths.”

Loki scoffed. Thor drew in a deep breath, as he reached down to place a hand on Loki’s neck, and – applying a gentle squeeze – he aimed for the nerve there that had Loki instinctively arching backwards with severe discomfort. He kept his hold until Steve finally ceased with his questions about incest and whether Loki jested, until Tony came over to guide him away with a half-sympathetic smile, although – before he left – he also shot out a question about whether they were brothers, as Loki chirped back ‘biblical brothers’.

“I beg that we make matters as quick as possible,” pleaded Thor. “I will use my strength to aid in rescue of survivors, while I will gladly discuss with needs to be discussed, but you can see as well as I that my husband is no position to be left here on Midgard.”

“Could I get another drink?” Loki chirped.” I’m awfully parched.”

Tony rolled his eyes and poured another drink. He cast a glance to Thor, as if seeking silent permission, and Thor nodded in response while Loki sang a song beyond recognition, as if it were stolen from some Midgardian form of entertainment. Tony came forward and offered the glass, which silenced Loki only long enough for him to make a snide remark about how an alcoholic should have been able to pour a better drink. Tony growled and spat out:

“So, about that muzzle . . .”


	17. Chapter 17

_Silence_. . .

Thor stood before the energy barrier. The interior of the dungeon cell looked immaculate; various pieces of furniture were carefully placed for both function and aesthetics, while an array of books and musical devices littered the shelves, and a selection of luxury foods lined the largest table centre of the room. Thor noted the bowls of ice chunks, taken from Jotunheim and created from the purest water, likely hand-delivered by Odin on Helblindi’s behalf, while plates of ripe grapes sat on a bedside table as gifted by Frigga.

The room could easily be mistaken as one from their holiday homes, and – indeed – someone had painted a mural on the wall opposite to reflect the vast grassy fields of Vanaheim, as carefully selected incense brought with it the scents of those native flowers. Thor noted that this section of the dungeon was deprived of all other cells . . . _‘this is the solitary cell, often used for punishment, but we have refurbished the area to the Allfather’s desire’_. . .

There was just one exposed wall, which was that of the energy barrier. The other three walls were all enclosed, as they spread out to a small watch-area and work-area for the two guards on permanent shift, and just beyond them stood the one spiral staircase, which led upstairs to the dungeon infirmary where Eir took her shift as Loki’s personal healer. Thor wrapped his cloak about his frame, while he signalled to the guards to leave. They left upstairs, where no doubt Eir would watch from a small screen in case of emergency intervention.

“After all this time,” said Loki.

Thor leaned against the small desk. He saw how Loki stood central of his cell, with hair slicked back into his perfectly controlled style, while he jumped a little on his heels with a devilish smirk and a cock of his head. The clothes he wore were those designed for battle, with thick leathers and his longest coat, and he kept his hands clasped behind his back, as he stood tall with the crinkles of his eyes reminding Thor of Odin. Loki let out a long hum of amusement, as he rocked back and forth with that same smirk. Loki asked in a chipper voice:

“Now you have come to visit me. _Why_?”

“Enough, Loki,” pleaded Thor.

The illusion shattered. Thor noted the room was still in immaculate condition, but Loki . . . he looked _broken_. It was as if the health and passion were stripped from his skin, as he lay against the far left room exceptionally close to the barrier, where he shoulders were slumped and his hands lazily dropped onto his lap, and his legs were parted with slippers half-hanging from bruised feet. The clothes he wore were old and rough pyjamas of a green hue, as he seemed too fatigued to even dress for the expected visit. The smile was weak.

Thor noted Loki wore his hair long and loose, but his natural curls were matted and greasy with a lack of care, and yet there were a few subtle improvements . . . the bags under his eyes were long gone, while there were no visible cuts on his skin . . . he clearly slept more, ate more, and avoided harming his skin. A long sigh escaped Thor’s lips, as he stepped toward the energy barrier and forced a sad smile across his lips. Tears welled in Loki’s eyes.

“Now you see me, Husband,” choked Loki.

Those few words were all it took to break Thor. He sat against the wall beside Loki, with the energy barrier just between the two of them and separating them by a mere few inches, and he stared at the mural where he noted three figures standing alone on the hill. Loki had drawn Frigga, Odin, and Thor together as a family. Thor scrunched closed his eyes, as he realised that Loki could not paint himself into existence even in his own fantasy, and he swallowed hard the lump that formed in his throat, as he strove to find the right words. Thor whispered:

“I hate to see you like this.”

“I am told it is for my own safety,” murmured Loki. “This cell allows me to be monitored at all times, while the only items are those placed here by the guards and our parents, and that makes it certain that I cannot harm myself or escape these four walls. Our people also see the dungeons as a form of punishment, sating their desire to see me hurt in recompense.”

“Is that what they told you or is that what you imagine?” Thor let out a long sigh. “Father has hidden the truth from our people, Loki. I object to a part of our history being erased from all books, as if your misdeeds never occurred, but he insists on keeping matters private. He does not wish for word to spread, but if he can hide the war crimes of a prince, what else may he be hiding from us? I fear justice has been denied in these matters.”

“Mother says that word is I’ve been sequestered. I assumed she sought to put my mind at rest, lest I worry what our people would say in my absence. She claimed that father said I am to remain on bed-rest with an unexpected illness that requires treatment. It is true in a manner of speaking, but I dislike being seen as an invalid even more than being seen as a villain.”

“You are no villain to our people, Loki,” swore Thor. “I cannot say the same for those on Earth, especially for those such as Jane . . . I do not know how I shall explain the fact you murdered so many, but that you shall remain my husband and a part of our daughter’s life.”

“Will it matter when she will be dead soon, in any case?”

The words were cold and cruel. Thor clenched his hands and drew in a sharp breath, as he turned his head towards Loki and saw those green eyes brimming with tears, and it took all his strength not to rise to the bait as he once would have risen. A part of him screamed at him to walk away, but that was also no longer an option. Loki wanted him to fight or flee. Thor instead focuses on breathing long and slow, until his heart slowed and the cold sweat ceased, and he licked at his lips to wet the chapped skin. Thor said in a calm voice:

“I thought time with the healers would help you.”

Loki rolled his eyes with a stifled laugh. A tear ran down his cheek, which he wiped away with the back of his hand, before – with a shuddered sigh – he pushed himself upright into perfect posture and brushed back his hair from his face. Thor pressed a hand to the energy barrier, grateful these were programmed merely to provide a transparent wall and not programmed to jolt the occupant for attempting to breach the perimeter, and he smiled when Loki pressed a hand back with an almost affectionate gesture. Loki asked in a quiet voice:

“Why have you not visited me, Thor?”

“I tried,” spat Thor. “I have visited these dungeons every morning and night! I have been denied entrance, even as I have watched our mother enter and leave, and even as I wait . . . hoping and _praying_ you would change your mind . . . you would not allow me access. Do you expect me to fight and scream and demand visitation to you? Would you rather me ignore your express wishes and disrespect you by overriding your orders? What is it, Loki?”

“The healers _did_ mention that I am often too indirect.” Loki pulled back his hand. “I shall admit that I often act in roundabout ways, with my intentions hidden, but I have spent my life hidden in your shadows and silenced by both you and Father! He screamed at me for objecting to your exile. You silenced me when I objected to your actions on Jotunheim . . .”

“We were wrong. We admit to this. We have striven to change.”

“Yes, for which I am most grateful, but I still live in fear of being dismissed. It is not a fear that shall vanish simply as you both say ‘we have changed’, as a millennium of experience and observations has taught me to doubt that simple truth. I am too used to using covert means to make my point known, and – for the most part – it has worked.”

“Aye, but it has also backfired.” Thor smiled and shrugged. “You made your point clear that I was unfit to rule, by letting the Jotuns into the Treasury, but that also led to my exile and all these events now that mar our relationship and our future. Loki, I am listening. I am listening to all you are telling me, and I wish to know what is it that you wanted me to hear when you acted as you did upon Midgard. What purpose did your actions serve?”

Loki threw back his head. He rested it against the white wall, where he laughed through a closed mouth and let his head roll for a long few moments, until – with a loud sigh – he reached up to the small table behind him. A glass bowl contained many ice chips. It was likely enchanted to keep the contents cold, as Thor knew no one had visited that morning and yet somehow the ice was still solid, and he watched as Loki took a chip into hand and suckled at it with a low sigh of relief. The tips of his fingers turned a light blue, along with his lips.

Thor used his moment of distraction to glance to his stomach. The rough material of his pyjama top stretched over distended skin, enough that every instinct guided Thor to reach out and stroke the developing mound, but he quickly snapped his eyes away when Loki finished his brief snack and looked to Thor with a raised eyebrow. Thor blushed despite their familiarity, while Loki raised a leg to his chest and wrapped an arm around the limb.

“I wanted to hurt you,” whispered Loki.

The words were heavy and honest, but they hurt with a great blow. Thor let out a broken gasp, as he struggled to maintain his smile, and brought a hand to his chest so that he could rub at his racing heart, while bile burned at the back of his throat. He listened to laughter and gossip just one floor above, where a guard sounded to flirt with Eir in an attempt to win her attention, and the world move on around them, while a few walls barely muffled the sound of the common prisoners in their regular cells. Thor lost himself in the sounds, as he muttered:

“This was an act of revenge?”

“It was an act of _everything_.” A tear rolled down Loki’s cheek. “I was afraid that any potential child would be a mere pawn to politics, but a realm of my own would give them complete and utter freedom over their lives. I was afraid that I was lost in my own madness, with no outlet to express my pain and no distraction for my rage. I wanted others to hurt as I was hurt, but most of all -? I wanted _purpose_. I did not wish to be so _trapped_.”

“We are not gods, Loki,” whispered Thor. “We are born. We live. We die. You do not need a ‘purpose’ beyond that which you give yourself, as we shall love and respect you regardless of what you do or do not do, but if you felt trapped . . . that I could understand. If you just came to me with these concerns, I could have helped you to find a solution.”

“What solution would there have been, Thor?”

“I do not know, but I would not have left you suffer alone.” Thor paused for a deep breath. “May I ask you a serious question, Loki? Do you define yourself by other’s perceptions? I have felt that this house-arrest has led to more than a loss of freedom, but a loss of self as you are unable to join me in battles or play pranks on our friends, and to add to that the expectation of an heir -? It must surely force you to re-evaluate your identity as an Asgardian.”

Loki said nothing. He simply climbed to his feet, as he paced back and forth along the energy barrier with heavy strides, and he kept his head cast so low that heavy shadows overrode his features, until Thor could not bear to look at him. The sound of slippers slapping along tiles echoed about the cell, while Thor struggled to stand and paced alongside Loki, even as Loki sneered and shot him dark glares. They moved side by side, while the guards continued to laugh and jest above. Loki finally stopped centre of his cell and said in a slow voice:

“I am not ready to yet talk about such matters.”

Thor stopped and looked back, while both processed the words. He smiled, even as he longed for an honest answer, as he knew even a basic confession – _an admission of discomfort_ – was a huge concession on Loki’s part. It was not easy for him to show any level of vulnerability, let alone to be honest with his emotions, and here he finally told Thor something personal and truthful without any expectation for something in return or an attempt to manipulate.

“I understand, Loki,” said Thor.

“You understand _nothing_.”

“I understand you have been testing me this past week.” Thor sighed. “If I fought to see you, then that would have been considered a _desire_ to see you, but . . . you have made mistakes as you so often do, and you have mistaken my respect for your wishes as a relief not to visit. I half-suspect that this is a similar test, as such -? Allow me to sit here in silence.”

“What is the point in silence?”

Thor kept quiet. He simply looked around with quick eye movements, before – with an exaggerated raise of his arms and a sarcastic smile – he gestured over to a bowl of grapes on the guards’ desk, which were likely there to be gifted to Loki once dinner was served. Thor marched over to the desk and took the bowl, before he strode back to the energy barrier and dropped down onto the floor with cross-legged. He took a grape and made childish moan of pleasure. Loki rolled his eyes and sat beside him, as he grabbed some grapes in turn.

“I am here for you, Loki,” swore Thor. “I will respect your wishes, but I will also not allow you to be abandoned or for harm to befall you. I must learn to balance your wishes with your needs, as well as to read your intent, but in turn I _beg_ you be more honest with me.”

“And if I am not honest?”

“I suppose that is what the healers are for,” confessed Thor.

“They prod and poke at my mind! I cannot stand being stared at like an animal within a menagerie, while they ask questions that are either too personal or too inane, but . . . they have allowed for me to speak to Mother about important matters. I am _loath_ to admit that it has helped to discuss some details of the mutual rape with her, so it was not a wasted effort.”

“Aye, they will not tell us what you have said, but they do say you have made vast progress and that your mind appears to have cleared over these few days.” Thor nodded and took another grape. “I imagine you at least discuss with them what you cannot discuss with Mother? I will not pressure you to talk with me, but you can also turn to me with your issues, Loki. I shall not judge you or try to fix your issues, but I shall simply . . . listen.”

“Oh, please, you have to fix _everything_ ,” muttered Loki.

“That is untrue,” argued Thor.

“You _just_ failed to ‘simply listen’.” Loki bit into a grape. “You have just denied my personal perception of your behaviour and invalidated my cognitive abilities in the process, as if there is an ‘objective’ version of reality and you seek to impose your ‘correct’ view upon me. I will admit that their prattle is obnoxious, but at least now I can annoy _you_ with such nonsense.”

Thor glanced at Loki from the corner of his eye. Loki was smirking, with the bowl on his side already mostly empty, and – as he popped a grape into his mouth with an equally childish groan of pleasure – he pulled a face and spat out a half-chewed grape onto his tongue. Thor let out a sound of disgust, as he slapped at the energy barrier and caught laughter that was both genuine and free from malice. They ate in silence, both teasing the other with faces and gestures and small staring competitions, until Thor finally broke into outright laughter in turn.

“I would not say it is _nonsense_ ,” laughed Thor.

“So you admit to being wrong?”

“I will admit that I failed to listen to you, yes.”

A feigned gasp escaped Loki. He smiled with a laugh, as he placed his bowl onto the table. Thor continued to eat, even as Loki reclined on the floor with a large grin, and they relished in a comfortable quiet that was so rare in recent months. Thor wondered whether Loki would be allowed a camping or hunting trip on his release, much like before his house arrest, and a part of him longed to have his brother and husband back in his life, where they could bicker and fight and bond and make up. Thor asked in a gentle voice:

“Did they give you any medicine?”

“Hmm? They gave me some,” confessed Loki. “I disliked it at first, as it felt like I was forced into a strange form of emotional purgatory. The world was neither good nor bad. Do you know what it’s like to not _feel_ anything? I _longed_ for my sadness to return, as at least I was alive in those moments and pain was better than nothing, as it was at least _something_ , but the longer I endure in this state -? Well, the more I can think with some clarity.

“I do not think I shall ever be ‘cured’. Eir told me that it is normal for many to live a lifetime with such depressions and insecurities, while depression can often manifest as apathy as opposed to a serious sense of sadness, but that there will always be moment of happiness and I shall learn how to cope with my emotions. It hardly seems desirable, but . . .”

“It is still a light in the darkness,” confessed Thor. “I know I experienced an overwhelming sensation of sadness after our rape, as if I were drowning and gasping for breath at once, and I could not overcome that, but then I experienced moments of happiness and –”

“– it lessened the pain and gave you purpose –”

“– even if it did not erase the pain itself.”

They both smiled, finally in sync for the first time. Loki bore a beautiful smile so much like his younger self, enough that Thor was almost certain that – in a few weeks or months – he would be strong enough to stand trial for his crimes, and perhaps their ordeal would be at an end as they moved forward. Thor glanced again to the stomach that would soon be impossible to hide, even so early into the first bimester, and asked with barely concealed excitement:

“The medicines will not affect the baby?”

The air at once grew cold. Every muscle in Loki’s body tensed, as he clenched his hands and leaned forward, and his eye locked on Thor until they became mere slits, even as they moved up and down his muscular frame with a contracted pupil. Loki curled his lip and threw himself back, as he folded his arms across his chest and crossed his legs at the ankle. He stared off at the mural. The distant stare was matched only by the awkward tension, both lengthy and uncomfortable, and Thor bit his tongue to hold back a desperate apology.

“I am _not_ pregnant,” spat Loki.

“Why do you seek to hide this from me, Loki?” Thor rolled his eyes. “We were intimate _twice_ since the rape, and – while you insisted on taking me from behind – I still noticed the subtle weight gain to your frame. I also noticed you appear to be craving ice and cold water, as well as dried and jerked meats, and you are shunning various fruits except for grapes.”

“Is this how you seek to win my trust? You do not need to insult me, Thor! I have enjoyed the taste of food and have gained some weight, but am I now worthless as a trophy bride because of a small aesthetic change? I did not think you so shallow.”

“If this is about retaining your autonomy, I will make sure _no one_ forces you into anything against your wishes.” Thor turned to lock eyes with Loki. “If you wish to abort, I shall support you through that process. If you wish to keep our child, I shall support you with unconditional love. Has Eir confirmed this pregnancy yet, Loki?”

“For the last time, Thor, I -!”

Loki threw his hands into his hair. He gripped tight at the long locks, while his nostrils flared and eyes narrowed, and Thor – with a wince of regret – realised this would be a discussion best left for another day, as Loki struggled to control his breathing with loud pants. Thor noted he no longer pulled at his hair until clumps were lost or blood was drawn, but his skin still paled and his lips still trembled. Thor remained silent.

“I am _not_ pregnant,” spat Loki.

The dark silence came through the air once again; Thor sighed and picked the grapes apart from their stalks, as he remembered how Loki once threw them across the table at him as children, and smiled as the memory came back of how one landed in Odin’s wine. They sat beside one another, even as time drifted onward, and it was only a matter of time before Frigga would come down the staircase for her scheduled visit, destroying the last ounce of privacy between them. Loki eventually choked out with a cold voice:

“What reasons have I to hide such a development?”

“I do not know, Loki,” confessed Thor. “I just know that I will not abide any potential risk to you or our unborn child, so – if you continue to deny this turn of events – I will be forced to come forward to our parents and to Eir. You need to make a decision soon, but I will give you as much time as I am able, even if I wish you would be honest now.”

“I am being honest,” said Loki. “I am not with child.”

“Fine, continue to lie with that silver-tongue. If it helps you in your decision, I have convinced Father to allow you back into our rooms with some conditions, and I think this may be beneficial for you . . . it would allow you to work things through in a warmer environment, where you would not be confined to one place and have familial support.”

“That sounds very appealing, but what is the catch?”

“Why would you assume there is a catch?”

“There is always a catch.”

Thor nodded with a bite of his lip. He stood again and returned the bowl to the desk, where he continued to distract himself with picking at the last few grapes from the stems, and – even though he knew Loki would not want the touched pieces – the pointless action enabled him to hide from the inevitable panic attack that would follow. Thor listened as Loki stood, as his pyjamas rustled and his slippers slapped against the tiles underfoot. Loki leaned against the energy barrier. Thor turned to see lips parted and eyes wide, as Loki spat out:

“Thor, they fear I will commit suicide or –”

“You would still be heavily supervised and on suicide watch,” said Thor. “You would also still be forced to visit the healers, who will continue to monitor your mind, but to be sure that you would not leave our realm or contact those in other realms -? Father would restrict your _seiðr_ much as he did with me, so that you must prove your worth to reclaim your powers.”

“I would consider that.” Loki furrowed his brow. “I could likely overcome such restrictions with enough time and patience, while I may even be able to argue those restrictions be removed or placed on a time limit or given on set conditions. Is there something else?”

“You would be required to take on your Jotun form,” whispered Thor.

Loki stepped back. A cold silence overcame the dungeon, as Thor turned with tears prickling in his eyes and lips trembling with unspoken words, and – as he reached toward the barrier – Loki stumbled back even further with his hands over his abdomen. Loki laughed through the inevitable tears, as his body shook until every breath became a chore, and Thor went to the barrier and placed both hands on the cool surface, as he gazed pleadingly toward him.

“I would rather stay in prison,” gasped Loki.

The tremble to his hands became more pronounced, as Loki choked on the air and hunched forward with hands grasping his pyjama top until knuckles turned white, and soon the tears fell down his cheeks until Thor was able to watch them drip onto the floor. A part of him sought to run to Eir, but he knew Loki would see it as a rejection. Thor slapped the barrier with a few panicked taps. He watched as Loki paced and panted and sobbed, while praying that their mother would return soon to comfort Loki in his distress.

“Loki, I know that you –”

“No. _No_ ,” spat Loki. “All I have is my identity as an Asgardian! I may have issues with the lies and facades, but I am still an Asgardian and still a part of this family. You will snatch that from me and deprive me of the only home I have known? You would make me stand out and different to all those around me? You would make me endure their abuse?”

“Loki, I think Father sees it as an apt punishment.” Thor struggled to hold back tears. “I agree that your actions cannot go unpunished, but that is the purpose of house-arrest . . . he argued that was clearly not enough, while Mother mentioned a fair point that you would likely not wish to traverse the realms in a Jotun form, and there was a long debate. I ultimately said that I would agree under the condition that _you_ agreed. This is your choice.”

“My choice is between a Jotun form and imprisonment?”

“This is _not_ imprisonment! You are here until your mind is cleared and you can face trial, at which point Father will judge you only by your actions on Midgard, as – with luck – you will have received the promised pardon from Helblindi, assuming that your lie about the unborn child is not proven true. You may be able to avoid _actual_ imprisonment, that being the case, and perhaps you can pay off your debts to the humans in other ways

“You are here as you still have your magic. You are here as you are still not healed in your mind. We do not wish for you to escape once more! We do not wish for you to cause war or murder any others or – _gods forbid_ – kill yourself in the process! Here we can keep you safe and protect you from harm, but if you agreed to at least a lack of _seiðr_ it would –”

“Oh, _please_ , Thor. _Please_!” Loki’s eyes grew bloodshot. “He will not take my _seiðr_ , as with a healed mind – and a pardon from Jotunheim – there is no point! It would be overkill. If I look like a monster, he would not need to worry about my potential escape with my _seiðr_.”

“You would rather live here in the cells simply to avoid your true form?”

“I would rather live _among_ the Jotun than _as_ a Jotun.”

Thor pinched the bridge of his nose. He tasted the salty tears on his lips, even as he pressed his forehead to the energy barrier, and he feared – in those dark moments – he lost Loki’s trust based on one option presented by their parents. Loki kicked at the table centre of the room and sent it hurtling across the floor, before he collapsed to his knees and buried his face into his hand. Thor listened to him half-sob and half-laugh, until Thor whispered:

“Loki, I can discuss it with them further, but you must –”

“Don’t bother,” spat Loki. “I will stay here.”

Loki ran his hands over his face, before he wandered to his bed. Thor watched him throw himself down onto expensive sheets, but – as he opened his mouth to argue back – the shimmer of an illusion spread through the air like a thousand sparks. He blinked, only to open his eyes to the image of an immaculate bedroom. The illusion of Loki sat elegantly on the _chaise longue_ with a finger raised to his tongue, before it flicked through the pages of the book with a lazy interest, all the while being clad in perfect attire. Thor choked out:

“Do you wish for me to leave or to remain?”

“What do you think?” Loki spat.

Thor watched the illusion for a long minute. He said nothing and stormed towards the staircase, until – with a stab in his chest – he paused with hand half-raised to the handrail, before he took in a deep breath and marched back to the desk. The room was filled with an awkward quiet, broken only by the scrape of wood on tile as Thor dragged a chair over toward the energy barrier, and he swore in those moments never to leave Loki again.

Thor sat down in silence.


	18. Chapter 18

_‘You seem conflicted, my love.’_

_Frigga pressed a kiss to his temple. A low moan escaped chapped lips, as she slid her arms around broad shoulders and rested her chin in the crook of his neck. He reached up with a trembling hand to stroke her golden locks. The smile he bore was sincere, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes or bring about those familiar laughter lines. He was fatigued. The paleness to his cheeks spoke of a bone-deep exhaustion, while his eyes stood milky and unfocussed._

_He sat at the edge of the bed, which dipped under his weight. The pillow on his side was still warm, while the sheets were tangled and saturated in sweat, and – as she kissed again at his skin – she wondered what nightmares had kept him awake while the world slept. A cool breeze drifted through the balcony doors, which caught his long hair and blew small waves about his features, while he hummed in brief acknowledgement of her presence. Odin closed his eye and tilted back his head, as she pulled her body flush against him. He whispered:_

_‘Asgard has never seen an heir half-Midgardian.’_

_‘That is true,’ said Frigga. ‘I also remember a time when Asgard had never seen a king half-Jotun in nature, but – no matter how you strive to hide your heritage – here you sit before me as one of the greatest kings our realm has ever witnessed. Thrúd will prove you proud.’_

_Odin scoffed, as he pinched the bridge of his nose. There were visible tears in his eye, while every inch of skin was ice cold to the touch, and it took all her strength to guide him back down against the bed, where she pulled the covers high to chin. He laughed despite the situation, as he folded his arms over his chest and over the sheets, and – with a pat of the bed beside him – she smiled and curled against him with a murmur of contentment. Frigga rested her head on his chest, while her hand traced loose patterns high on his thigh._

_‘It is tradition for the firstborn to be heir,’ whispered Frigga._

_‘Aye, as I am aware,’ said Odin._

_‘Is that not why we claimed Thor eldest of our sons?’ Frigga let out a shuddered sigh. ‘You always thought that Thor would rule Asgard, while Loki would grow to rule Jotunheim, and yet – even as you doubted you may love Loki as our own – your love for him was stronger than you could ever express. Thrúd will steal your heart, just as Loki won yours.’_

_‘I fear that her mixed heritage may leave her weaker. A ruler must be able to control their_ seiðr _, even if Thor believes that it is acceptable to use Mjölnir as a crutch, and while we know her life shall be as long as ours -? Will she not crave for Midgard?’_

_‘You worry whether she shall abdicate?’_

_‘Aye, Thor would abdicate if he were able.’ Odin reached for her hand. ‘That is not my only concern, however. There are more pressing matters concerning Loki. I have sought to talk to our son, but he has grown increasingly more cryptic over time, and I fear he seeks to hide something from me that has altered his motives and his choices.’_

_Frigga froze. If actions alone were not an indication of the seriousness of the discussion, the very words and suspicions regarding Loki were enough to cement her full attention. There were very few times where he would reject her advances, such as pulling away an exploring hand, and even fewer where he would willingly express such vulnerability and expose his fears even behind closed doors. Frigga pulled herself upright, as she leaned back against the headrest, and gently guided his head onto her lap. Frigga stroked at his hair and asked:_

_‘What has happened, Odin?’_

_‘Helblindi has offered Loki a full pardon,’ said Odin. ‘It comes under a set of conditions; the chief condition is that Loki is sent immediately to Jotunheim, and he has also offered to forfeit the Casket of Ancient Winters for this abrupt change of contract. I have refused. The strange part is that Loki seeks for me to agree to his conditions, but I cannot . . .’_

_‘That is strange, indeed. I can assure you that Loki has made great progress in his recovery process, while the medicines and therapies have helped calm his mind, and there is no trace of a spell that might alter his cognition. If he has made such a choice, it is his alone.’_

_‘Aye, but why - after all this time – would he choose to go to Jotunheim?’_

_‘I fear he his hiding something from us.’_

_Odin let out a long hiss of breath. Frigga awkwardly spread out her legs, allowing them to tent the sheets on either side of Odin, and – stroking his hair, humming an old tune – she noticed the lines on his body and the ache to her limbs. If age could fatigue her to such extremes, it worried her what Odin’s advanced age could inflict on him . . . the years between them were limited, so that each day was both a treasure and a tragedy. Frigga blinked away her tears and massaged his scalp, while her lips formed a broken smile. Odin asked:_

_‘What does our son hide?’_

_Every breath was strained and ragged, and yet his eye was focussed and narrowed. He stared at her with both concern and frustration. It was difficult to meet his gaze. Frigga paused with her hands still lost in his hair, as her heart raced and she swallowed back the lump in her throat. Odin lowered his eyes with a half-smile. It enabled her to relax her muscles, as well as hide the small micro-expressions he knew so well, and she admitted in a whisper:_

_‘If I told you, Husband, you would make this choice for him.’_

_‘And you think the choice must be his alone?’_

_Frigga longed for him to return his gaze. The downside to not having her thoughts seen was not being able to see his in turn . . . he reached up with a shaking hand, while she reached down for him, and – together – they held hands clasped over his shoulder. It grounded her. Every muscle in her body relaxed, even as her stomach churned and her thoughts turned to their son, and she squeezed hard at his hand until he squeezed back. They remained together on the bed for a long few minutes, as she considered her next words. Frigga whispered:_

_‘So long as he is in his right mind? Yes.’_

_* * *_

Frigga smiled down at Thrúd.

The blanket on the floor was strewn with toys. It was a struggle to even see the patchwork pattern, as large teddies and soft-books lay over every inch of its surface, and – with loud giggles and cries – Thrúd would move from object to object with an intense curiosity that was matched only by her energetic nature. Frigga saw Loki in her behaviour. It was subtle, but to be expected when they were biological cousins, and yet it was difficult to ignore.

It was cool within the infirmary, particularly with a draught from the open door. A healer would enter and leave every few seconds, while Eir focussed intensely on the holographic projections before her and papers slid into her hand, and Thrúd would occasionally try to run to the medical bed centre of the room, as she would chant ‘ma, ma, ma’. It brought Frigga a smile, as she watched Sif scoop Thrúd into her arms with a feigned gasp of surprise, which brought further giggles from Thrúd. It was a beautiful and natural sight.

Jane remained on the medical bed. The smile on her lips reached her eyes, where it brought thin laughter lines into prominence, and – as she fidgeted with her toes and fingers – her eyes would dart between her daughter and the technological advances about the infirmary. Every time she moved her hands clasped on her stomach, the images on the screens would blur and Eir would share a stern look with Frigga. Frigga could only shrug in response.

“Be still,” warned Eir.

Jane rolled her eyes, but refused to cease her smile. There was no denying that she was in the final stages of a cruel disease . . . the scarf about her head failed to hide the loss of hair, while the baggy clothes failed to hide the extreme weight loss. Frigga saw one on the cusp of life and death. Jane was too much a revenant . . . a corpse animated by spirit alone, but doomed to be return to the realm of spirits beyond. Jane gasped. It stole Frigga’s attention, as she shot her gaze to a pale hand reaching to the hologram above, as Jane stated in an excited voice:

“That must be the cancer.”

“Indeed,” observed Eir. “I can say with certainty that your time is limited, but this is surely something already explained by the mortal healers. It is something we could potentially treat, except that too much time has been allowed to pass, and the healing stones can only do so much without complicated surgeries and _seiðr_. I am afraid this is fatal.”

“Okay, I’m so sorry, but I _really_ have to ask a question!”

Eir raised an eyebrow at the non-sequitur. The half-smile on Jane’s expression spoke of great excitement, while her scrunched eyes spoke of a childlike anxiety to interrupt the ‘adults’ in the room, and – for a long moment – Frigga feared Jane did not realise the severity of her situation. There was an awkward silence, broken only by Thrúd’s laughter. Eir drew in a deep breath and feigned a smile, as she waved a hand at Jane to signal that any questions were welcomed. Jane immediately shot upright into a sitting position and asked with great speed:

“Is that a quantum field generator?”

Jane was already on her feet. There was a wince to her features, as she gripped the edge of the bed for balance, but her eyes fixated on the projected images above her, as she reached up with a trembling hand to touch the pieces of refracted light. The other healers giggled and left the room, even as Eir let out a long sigh and contented herself by tidying up the infirmary and turning off the various pieces of equipment. Jane frowned as the images vanished.

“It is a soul forge,” said Eir.

“Does a ‘soul forge’ transfer molecular energy from one place to another?”

Eir raised her eyebrows with an amused smile. A quick glance to Frigga revealed that Eir was impressed by the knowledge displayed, enough that she could only politely nod to Jane, and Jane – with a childish squeal – returned to examining the now off machine. Eir said nothing, but laughed behind her hand as she left the room to the adjacent laboratory where her healers waited for various results. The infirmary was soon empty, save for the three women and young child, and Jane stumbled over to Frigga’s side to whisper out:

“It’s a quantum field generator.”

“You seem awfully content for one with cancer,” observed Sif.

“I guess it’s just . . . I don’t know.” Jane blushed and shrugged. “I always _dreamed_ about seeing worlds like this, ever since I was a child, and I have notebooks filled with notes and ideas and formula . . . this place is technological impossible by Earth standards! I thought this would be a thing of the distant future, but it’s _here_ and it’s _now_. If I have to die, at least I can die having seen my dreams come true and having learnt a little more.”

“You are braver than I could ever be, Jane Foster. We have a belief that those who die in battle will enter Valhalla, where they shall encounter the greatest warriors of our time, and I know – even if your world is far different than ours – you shall be honoured with the greatest of all afterlives. This is a battle, even if it is not one we would expect.”

“I - I’m kind of more worried about Thrúd,” said Jane. “I knew there wouldn’t be much that Eir could do to help me, but I thought agreeing to a check-up would at least put Thor’s mind at rest, as he would know he did all he could, but . . . if I die . . .”

“I swear to you, Thrúd will always be happy and protected.”

Jane reached out toward Thrúd. A gentle touch to a chubby cheek had Thrúd reaching out, and – as Jane struggled to find strength to hold her child – Frigga noticed the bruises on her hands and forearms. A brief look was shared with Sif; Sif half-frowned and folded her arms across her chest, unable to bring herself to state the obvious, even as Jane bounced Thrúd and babbled ‘baby talk’ at her with a great deal of affection. It was beautiful to watch, but a moment broken by the fear that fell over her expression as Jane asked:

“Will Thrúd live here? On Asgard?”

The paleness to Jane’s cheek went beyond her sickness. There was a tremble to her lips, as her eyes watered and she held Thrúd ever closer to her chest, and Thrúd – so close to that warm chest and locked tight in a kind embrace – opened her mouth wide with a yawn. Frigga smiled and stroked Thrúd’s growing blonde locks, while Jane let loose a staggered sigh in turn, and both women stood so close . . . _eyes locked, painful truths unspoken . . ._ both unwilling to speak first and end the uncertain possibilities with a cold realisation.

“Donald offered to raise her,” whispered Jane.

“I can swear to you that she will always know her home,” swore Frigga. “We will allow for extended visits to Donald and Michael, while I shall personally oversee her education, so she will always know about Midgardian history and culture. You need not worry about what my husband says on the matter, or how Loki objects, as those of royal blood often believe they hold a level of control. The real power always resides with the mother and grandmother.”

“The Allmother teases,” chided Sif. “I will agree that Thrúd should reside on Asgard, however. You should take all the time that is available to you, but once the inevitable happens . . . Thrúd needs to be raised by our people. It is safest for all involved.”

“How?” Jane asked. “I mean, isn’t joint custody just as valid?”

“Thrúd bruises you just by basic play. Our people are far stronger than yours, as such there is a legitimate concern a child – unaware of her strength – could critically injure those far weaker than those of her race. We can teach her to temper her strength.”

“We can also provide far more,” said Frigga. “The only thing we cannot provide is the love of a mother, but that is something neither realm can replace. We can only do all we can to give her the best life that is possible, as we strive to do you proud, and we can do that with an excellent Academy that is envied across all Nine Realms. You have also seen our healers and infirmary firsthand, but we can also show you our nurseries and libraries in turn.”

Thrúd broke the ensuing silence with a loud ‘ma’. Jane broke into laughter, even through her tears, and pressed a lingering kiss to those long locks of hair, before she pulled back with a sniff and struggled to kneel on the blanket. It took only a few seconds for Thrúd to run to her favourite stuffed snake, while Jane sat with legs on either side of her, as she worked on plaiting Thrúd’s hair with a hummed tune to some old song. Frigga knelt in turn, even as her joints ached and a long hiss escaped her lips. Thrúd ran to her side as she said:

“Odin has already accepted Thrúd as his heir.”

Sif flinched and turned her back on them. Frigga caught the unusual reaction, but it was Jane who shot her gaze from face to face and whose lips parted in mild panic. The room grew mildly cold, although Frigga suspected – from the racing of her heart – it was a coldness borne from fear and anticipation, and she gently guided Thrúd into her lap as she finished the plait, even as Jane paused with hands still raised midway in the air. Sif said nothing, but did sit beside them as Thrúd immediately tried to climb over onto her lap.

“What?” Jane asked. “What is it?”

“I was sworn to secrecy,” muttered Sif. “I worry as Loki has been given medicines for his depression, while there are rumours that Helblindi and the Allfather are in talks about whether he shall move to Jotunheim or remain on Asgard, but . . . these talks about an heir . . . I know I should not say anything, but Loki confirmed to me he is with child.”

“Wait . . . what?” Jane rapidly blinked. “Thor mentioned it in confidence, like as a _vague_ possibility, but . . . no one said it was _definite_? I was freaking out about my daughter being around a mass murderer as it stood, but he’s . . . what . . . pregnant?”

“I see my suspicions are thus correct,” whispered Frigga.

“You _knew_ about this?” Jane asked.

Frigga watched as Thrúd climbed onto Sif’s lap; little hands grasped muscled shoulders, until Sif feigned a loud gasp and took those hands in hers, and – pulling gently to guide small legs – Thrúd walked up her chest and would jump down when she reached her collarbone. It was a game impossible for mother and daughter to play, lest Thrúd break bones or bruise skin, and yet Thrúd flushed red and laughed with every jump back down. Frigga remembered playing such games with Loki as a young toddler, and smiled as she said in a quiet voice:

“Loki – much like his father – can hide very little from me.”

“So he’s _pregnant_?” Jane asked. “ _Really_ pregnant?”

“I am worried as he hides so much from Thor,” said Sif. “If the rumours are true that he seeks to go to Jotunheim, it would mean taking his child with him, and Thor still does not know for certain whether that child even exists. How could this possibly benefit Loki? I know that he has potential to redeem himself, but I still doubt his intentions for these lies.”

“It sounds like a pretty badly kept secret, if all this is true.” Jane ran a hand through her hair. “I guess it could benefit him someway to have it such an open secret? Do you think he’s _maybe_ doing this in hopes someone says ‘no, don’t go to Jotunheim’?”

“You think he is testing our loyalties through underhanded means?”

“You tell me, I barely know the guy.”

The accusation was one with merit. Loki was never one to _ask_ for attention, but always one to use any means necessary to prove his worth or gain sympathy, and there was every possibility that Sif’s suspicions were true . . . rumours were spread in hopes someone would beg him to remain. Frigga drew in a deep breath, as she struggled to stand once more. It was possible his intent would backfire, assuming that to be the case, especially when Thor would resent being kept in the dark about the ongoing talks with Helblindi and Loki’s potential child.

Frigga wandered across the infirmary; a few whispered words to a servant girl enabled the toys to be removed, while another helped Jane to stand and take Thrúd into arms, and soon they were led to the main doors by Sif, who kept her head low and avoided their gaze. The three women stood by the main entrance, while Thrúd attempted to climb down and grab at Frigga and Jane’s hands. Frigga laughed and took the small hand with a smile, as she said:

 “I will speak to my son about the matter.”

Sif paused with hand midway to the door. A quick glance was shot in Frigga’s direction, with eyes wide and lips parted with an instinctual question, but – with a sigh and flared nostrils – Sif bit her tongue and furrowed her brow. Frigga smiled and gave Sif time to gather her thoughts, as so often Thor’s friends felt the need to censor themselves in her presence, and soon Sif drew herself tall and lifted her head high. A respectful bow was delivered; Jane stepped back a few steps, as if unsure whether she was to bow in turn. 

“It might take a few visits for Loki to be honest,” said Sif.

“I will visit as long as it takes.” Frigga smiled and bowed her head. “My love for my son knows no bounds, as such I will do all that I can to understand his mind, but I will ask you both not to speak further of this to any other. My husband remains oblivious to the pregnancy, while Thor knows nothing of Loki’s intent to leave to Jotunheim. I think that – whatever Loki’s motives are in such matters – this must remain Loki’s choice.”

“You think they’d make these decisions for him?” Jane asked.

“I know they would. Thor and Odin may be opposites in many respects, but neither would allow their heir to be forcibly taken to another realm. If Loki is seeking to test their loyalties, or if he is genuinely considering such a move for reasons I know not, it could prove detrimental to corner him into a decision made by another. We must give him space.”

“With all due respect,” said Sif, “I do not believe space is what Loki needs. We too often gave him the benefit of the doubt, while my concerns were dismissed as malice, and I fear that neglect is what drove him into madness. I feel he craves attention and affection.”

“He will receive both in abundance, but he must also have his freedom.”

“And what if he is never truthful to Thor or the Allfather?”

Frigga said nothing, even as she opened the door. In the distance, Thor quickly marched down the corridor with a flush to his cheeks . . . it was clear that he raced from dungeons to infirmary in record time, desperate to fulfil his duties to both his husband and the mother of his child, and yet he stopped at a distance to pant for breath. Frigga longed to go to his side and chide him for taking so little care of his health, but his intentions were good, and she lacked the strength to criticise an action taken with selfless motives. Frigga answered:

“We shall never know unless we give Loki that chance.”

Jane and Sif stood with questions already on their tongues. Frigga said nothing, as she quickly dashed along the hallway to Thor’s side and brought him into a warm embrace, and – turning back to signal Jane and Sif to their side – she forced a smile that brought lines to her eyes and colour to her cheeks. Jane followed at a slow pace, even as Thrúd pulled and tugged at her to hurry along, and Sif said nothing as she kept her distance. Frigga chirped:

“Come, it is time for dinner.”


	19. Chapter 19

Loki sat upright.

The _chaise longue_ was comfortable in his effort to recline, but far less so as he strove to maintain regal composure and perfect posture. He closed the book in his lap with a gentle touch, while manicured fingers rested on the cool leather, and drew in a deep breath as his eyes quickly danced over to the guards at their station. No one looked inside the cell. They busied themselves with paperwork and jokes, with gossip and exercises, and the energy barrier still stood as a firm boundary between prisoner and guards.

Loki ran a hand through gelled and tamed hair. It took a chance glance toward Helblindi to see something was amiss . . . _no scents of colognes or perfumes, no cold sensations, no interactions with any physical objects_. . . Helblindi stood just a few inches from the wall, dressed in fine Asgardian attire that covered his body in a modest fashion, while long black locks were pulled back into a long plait over his left shoulder. He bore a bright smile.

The guards were oblivious, even as Loki stood and walked closer to the barrier. He kept his hands clasped behind the leather of his coats, while he hoped that the swell to his stomach – even as it strained against his shirt – was less prominent than he perceived, and he kept his eyes on the guards with a strong focus. Helblindi was still visible in his peripheral vision, but he simply walked to and fro with a low song hummed on his lips. The tune was half-familiar, like one heard so long ago and yet so easily forgotten, and Loki asked in a cold voice:

“How did you get in here?”

Helblindi smiled and came to stand beside him. There was something eerie about being so close to another and yet unable to feel their presence, but he kept his head held high and his eyes locked on a spot just above the guards’ heads, and held tight to his hands even as the wrists on each arm bruised with the pressure. He struggled to maintain his breathing, even as his heart raced with each passing second, and Helblindi reached out to him with a sigh, as if he sought to touch his shoulder. The illusion made contact impossible, as Loki observed:

“The guards should have noticed you by now.”

“I’m currently sitting in my bedroom,” chirped Helblindi. “I must say, I’d take all my meetings via _seiðr_ if I so could! One can wake in a hurry, after a vigorous love-making session and a night of strong alcohol, and not even need to worry about showers or clothes or how presentable one appears, just . . . _poof_. . . here in perfect condition.”

“You seem awfully jovial for one who could be caught any moment.” Loki rolled his eyes. “I trust your _seiðr_ has prevented the guards from seeing or hearing our conversation? What image have you projected for their benefit? Am I sleeping? Reading? Eating?”

“Reading. It seemed more in character for them to believe.”

Helblindi winked and pointed to the _chaise longue_. There was a visible indent in the cushion from days spent reclining with vast piles of literature, while piles of paperwork lay at the side that required the diplomatic intelligence of a prince, and it became clear that his time was spent in vast busywork between visits and sessions with the healers. Loki pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh, while his other hand rested on his hip, and his fingers brushed against the small swell to his stomach. He jolted his hand back to his side and spat:

“Why are you here?”

“You still haven’t told Thor about the pregnancy?”

Loki winced. He dropped his hands by his sides, as he gazed out over the guards who exchanged photographs of loved ones and stories of time away from work, and – from one hand to another – he saw the image of a small girl dressed in the latest fashion. A smile graced his lips, as he lowered his head and furrowed his brow. Loki brought a hand to his stomach, where he smoothed the leathers and thick materials, before he shrugged with a sigh.

“It did not seem in my benefit to do so,” confessed Loki.

“Hmm, I suppose that much is true.” Helblindi cricked his neck and sighed. “Still, I see how you strive to hide your growing stomach. Who are you trying to hide from, Loki? I sometimes fear you live in denial, seeking to believe that your body is not changing before your eyes, and – honestly – I understand that emotion more than I can express.”

“Do you now?” Loki spat.

“We all have our secrets,” muttered Helblindi. “Still, I suppose your denial serves us well in one area . . . at the very least, Thor cannot object to what he knows nothing about. I also suppose you seek to avoid the conversations with him that you endure with me, which is understandable as you seek to settle on a specific course of action, but equally –”

“I am psychoanalysed enough by the healers, Helblindi. Do you _really_ need to armchair analyse me in the process, too? I will admit that you are not the monsters I once believed, but that does _not_ mean I am content to host a living parasite inside my body, _especially_ when those around me seek to use its existence as a bargaining chip! At least were this a tapeworm, I could rid it without guilt. I do not wish to acknowledge its existence, no.”

A cool breeze blew through the cell. The ventilation ran strong every so often, programmed by the healers to emulate the outside weather, and yet – as the breeze caught at his hair and brought redness to his cheeks – Helblindi was unaffected by the change in temperature. He simply narrowed his eyes and flared his nostrils, as he looked Loki up and down with a roll of his eyes, but a deep draw of breath was all he required to regain composure with that same devilish smile that spoke of vast hidden depths. Helblindi asked in a warm voice:

“Do you really see my nephew as a parasite?”

“My appetite has changed and increased,” said Loki. “I have a living entity attached to my uterine lining that is absorbing a great deal of my nutrients, which enables it to grow and adapt, and – meanwhile – our _darling_ foetus-face has no real brain or consciousness, so it is rather difficult to form an emotional attachment. Each time I try to act in its best interests, I am acting on behalf of the idea of what it _could_ become and not what it _is_.”

“The question is whether you will want the child once they’re born.” Helblindi crossed his arms with a broken smile. “Will the child still be a parasite? Will you see a creature whose existence is to take from you, or will you see a life that depends upon you and loves you with an unconditional affection? Regardless of which, my offer still stands.”

“Your offer was to take away my child,” said Loki.

“The child you claim not to want.”

“No, the _child_ I may grow to love.” Loki ran a hand over his face. “You are aware that this is a mere collection of cells? If I chose to abort, I would not be aborting a child or a creature of cognitive thought, but merely a parasite whose _potential_ is to be more than the sum of its parts and a functional member of society. I simply struggle to reconcile the two.”

Helblindi winced and turned his head. It was easy to mistake his expression as one of sympathy, but Loki caught fragments of frustration and apathy on his brow, and – with a long sigh – Loki strode over to his _chaise longue_. He sat back down on the soft cushions, as he reclined with his hands rested over his stomach. The lump was more prominent. It appeared to stretch his skin all the more in his new position, forcing him to glance down.

A mere touch brought a strange flutter, best described as ‘butterflies’, but there were no other symptoms that would have garnered any concern . . . no sickness, no kicks, no fainting spells . . . all things he knew to expect with any given pregnancy. Loki traced his fingers over the leather with a smile. He thought to Frigga and Sif, both who endured such symptoms once previous, and yet recollections of the latter did nothing to win him over to the idea of continuing to the next bimester. Helblindi called from across the cell:

“Do you want the child or not?”

Loki continued to trace his stomach, even as Helblindi wandered toward him. He said nothing, even as Helblindi sat on the floor beside the _longue_ , and a part of him longed to reach out simply for someone to hold onto in his isolation. Helblindi quirked his head to smile at Loki’s stomach, even as he raised a knee and clasped his hands around his limb. The posture was confident and casual, much like what Loki may have done at any other time, and yet there was a great deal of sincerity in his gaze that made him difficult to read. Loki asked:

“You still wish to take them?”

“If that’s what you wish,” said Helblindi. “We could sequester you in Jotunheim. I would announce my ‘pregnancy’ to our people, then – some days or weeks later – we could claim that you miscarried, and then we merely need to keep your child secret until the time comes for me to ‘give birth’. You would have _complete_ freedom and _no_ obligations.”

Loki let out a low gasp. He closed his eyes with a smile, as he thought about what his freedom would entail and all that he could achieve . . . _a life beyond the confines of the palace, able to make the rules and explore at will, and the feel of warm sunshine on pale skin_. . . a furrow creased his brow, as he patted his stomach with a sigh. He hummed an old tune through closed lips, as he thought back to the first sip of ale slipped by his father and the first symphony shared with his mother . . . Loki bit into his lip until he tasted blood.

“Think about it,” continued Helblindi. “You could traverse the Nine Realms. You could fight in battles and cause mischief at home, while you could even perhaps return here as Thor’s consort or stay with me as my brother, but – whatever you choose – it would be _your_ choice and no one else’s! No child to hold you back. No laws to hold you down.”

“I am due to be pardoned as per your contract, in any case.” Loki blinked back the tears. “This new change of terms would only guarantee me the absence of a child, but this is not just _my_ child, Helblindi. I love Thor more dearly than any other, and this is _his_ child, too.”

“So you admit this is a ‘child’ now?”

“ _I do not know what I feel_!”

Loki flung himself forward. The racing of his heart echoed loud in his ears, while every breath was hard and fast until the air suffocated him, and – choking on the air itself – he dug his hands deep into his hair and screwed his face into a wrinkled mess. Helblindi reached out a hand, as if to touch his shoulder, but the limb went through his form and the illusion broke at the point of contact, so that Helblindi flickered out of existence. A few minutes later, as Loki grew hot and faint and his eyes welled, Helblindi came back into sight to whisper:

“Odin would agree to let you return to Jotunheim.”

“So long as it’s just _me_ that goes,” spat Loki.

“He doesn’t know you’re pregnant,” replied Helblindi. “Thor suspects, but he doesn’t know and – like I say – we can reveal you miscarried very early in your absence. It would be easier on me to have a direct heir, while I always have longed for a son, and this arrangement works out far easier for all involved. Odin refuses to agree to our terms, but I believe he will be swayed should you make him believe you truly desire to return home. It lies on you, Loki.”

“If he wishes me to stay, he could say so to my face. Odin cares _nothing_ for me! If he wishes me to remain here, it’s solely so I can provide a spare child to Asgard and an heir to Jotunheim, and – by playing the role of a walking incubator – I can prevent war.”

“Loki, he truly loves you as his son,” said Helblindi.

“Oh? I am to believe that?” Loki laughed. “He wants me to take on my Jotun form! If he were to restrict my _seiðr_ , I could easily overcome such limitations, but I suspect that condition for my release will be dropped now that my mind has cleared. Still, I must be punished in some form for my actions, but he chooses _this_ with a Jotun form?

“True, I would dare not show my face, so there is no risk of my possibly circumventing my house arrest once more, but . . . you said you could pardon me in advance? If I choose to give my son fully to you, you would pardon me of all my crimes and I could be delivered to Jotunheim as an Asgardian prince and not as a Jotun prisoner? If my choice is as a fatherless Asgardian or a Jotun father -? It makes my choice infinitely more difficult.”

Helblindi said nothing. Loki noted that his skin visibly paled, while his lips pursed into a tight line, and – even as Loki panted for breath – there was a shred of pity visible even through eyes blurred with tears and sweat. _Helblindi pitied him_. Loki let out a broken laugh, as he threw himself to his feet and paced back and forth with arms folded over his chest, while he bent forward and kept his eyes locked on the floor. He paced with deep breaths, as he controlled his oncoming panic, and choked out in a broken voice:

“You can allow me to keep my form?”

“It would be quite simple,” said Helblindi. “A full pardon of your genocide and regicide would lessen your overall punishment, as you would only need to atone for your actions upon Midgard, and – with that being the case – you could forgo the expectation of a Jotun form. We would need to draw up contracts, however, to ensure my investment.”

“We already have a contract to ensure that my child is your heir.” Loki winced. “You simply wish to seek that I cannot renege on my side to give you full custody, as well as relinquish any claims to paternity, and to get that in writing without Thor learning –”

“Leave the legal matters and technicalities to me, Brother.”

The voice spoke with great softness. Loki stopped pacing and turned to face Helblindi, only to see that he would not meet Loki’s gaze and stood just beside the _longue_ , and Loki – as he fiddled with his fingers and toyed with his hands – realised that there was every risk Helblindi would not follow through with his offer. A heavy sense of nausea weighed on Loki, as he doubled over and swallowed back the bile that burned his throat.

He stole a glance to the guards at the desk . . . _Asgardians_. . . they spoke in local dialects with local attire, while they argued about local politics and enforced local laws, and each one bore skin white or brown or black, but never blue or any other colour. Loki stood and brought a trembling hand to his lips, as he drew in a slow breath and centred his emotions. It was easy to imagine his child with an Asgardian father. The smile that broke over him was warm and sincere, but it soon faded as he envisioned himself with blue skin and red eyes.

“I cannot bear to be made Jotun,” whispered Loki.

“You acknowledged we are not monsters?”

“Yes, just as you acknowledge _we_ are not monsters.” Loki glared in his direction. “Still, will you openly rule in your true form? Do not seek to lecture me on being true to oneself, not until you openly come out as being Asgardian in nature! All I seek – above all else – is the love of my husband, but do you think he will love me in the form of a Jotun? Do you think I would love myself? Do you not think my child would resent being Jotun in turn?”

“Is this what motivates you? You fear abandonment?” Helblindi winced. “If I had known about your existence, I would have intervened far sooner in your life, as Father and Uncle had no right to allow you to feel so neglected and unwanted! I would gladly take this child from you, Loki, but not if you simply act out of a desire to pre-empt your fears.”

“So it would be acceptable to you if I callously toss them aside for my benefit, simply to have a life to myself and a form I prefer, but not to give them away to protect my relationships with those I cherish most by allowing me to remain Asgardian? You are a hypocrite.”

“I prefer to think of myself as a politician with standards,” teased Helblindi.

“That is something of a dichotomy,” spat Loki.

Helblindi laughed and walked over to him. A hand was raised and left to hover an inch from his face, mimicking the gesture of physical intimacy, and – with a sad smile – Loki closed his eyes and relished in the warm tingle of _seiðr_ that broke over his skin. He brought both hands to his stomach, as he clenched at the material and held tight until knuckles turned white, and he locked eyes with Helblindi in a silent plea. Helblindi said with a trembling smile:

“Take more time to make this decision, Brother.”

There was a sense of loss, as his eyes fell on Loki’s stomach. It was the look Lady Sif gave to all children that crossed her path . . . the look of what could have been, the look of hope for things to come . . . Helblindi pulled his hand away and let it fall to his side. The laughter from the guards soon died away, while several went back to their duties, and Loki listened to shuffling footsteps and lingering goodbyes, until silence reigned and all that was left were the little beats of his heart that threatened to break through his chest. Helblindi whispered:

“You may regret making the wrong decision.”

“It would be _worse_ for me to become Jotun in nature,” whispered Loki. “I respect you and I may even grow to like you, but I cannot bear to look myself in a mirror and see a total stranger, especially when my body is going through such changes and I am already so alienated from the very people who claim to love me. If I looked like those they hate -?”

“Loki, you are aware Odin could have executed you for your crimes?” Helblindi sent a cold look in his direction. “He allowed you to live. He refused to give you to me. These are not the actions of a man who despises a stranger or a monster, but one of a father.”

“Then why is he not here begging me to stay?”

Loki turned to the energy barrier. He slammed a hand against the surface, where his fingers touched against the cool surface, and – pressing his forehead against the barrier – he screwed shut his eyes and clenched his free fist by his side. The one guard on duty kept his eyes fixed on the pages of paperwork before him, oblivious to the way the illusion crackled where Loki stood with his form touching the very edges of the magic. Helblindi came to stand beside him and when he spoke it was with a voice filled with promise and kindness.

“I will never abandon you, Loki,” swore Helblindi.

The tears spilled from Loki’s eyes, as he let out a staggered breath. Loki brought a hand to his chest, as he clenched hard at the leather with broken laughter, and – as the hollowness inside his chest ached and burned – a part of him sagged with an unexpected relief. Every muscle grew weak and relaxed, while he half-collapsed against the barrier with eyes already half-closed, and a familiar fear overwhelmed him as he swallowed hard.

Loki listened as his heart raced. A familiar rush of adrenaline coursed through him, as his lip curled and a cold sweat broke over him, and – glaring in Helblindi’s direction – he looked Helblindi up and down with curious green eyes. Loki clenched his fist and turned around, while old fears stole away every last ounce of hope. He kept quiet, even as Helblindi took to wandering about the room with an absent gaze, and further laughter spilled from his lips until he regained his self-control and glanced towards the clock in hopes of an interruption.

“You are merely using me,” croaked Loki.

“Aye, I am,” confessed Helblindi. “I use all people, regardless of their relation to me. Can you not say that you would not use Thor or Odin should it benefit you in some manner? In this case, it is a win-win situation for me . . . I have an heir regardless of what you choose, so I stand to lose nothing by putting your needs first. I wish for you to be well, Loki.”

“How can I be well when to keep my child means to become a Jotun?” Loki laughed. “I – I have made improvements these past few weeks, but is that not enough to win my freedom? If – If I – If I am to look Jotun . . . if I am to become what they hate . . . they will – they will . . .”

“Loki, you must talk to Frigga or Thor about these fears.”

“Why? I know what they will say.”

“Loki, medicines may alter the chemical balance of your brain,” said Helblindi. “They can take away the edge to enable you to think with clarity, but they do not fix the deeper issues with faulty cognition or maladaptive coping mechanisms, and you thus see your situation through a fog of biases that is not representative of your reality. If you speak to Frigga and still wish to keep our deal, I will gladly take your child into my custody.”

Helblindi spoke with a smile broken only by tears. Loki realised that he was crying in turn, as tears ran down his cheeks and over his lips, and soon the taste of salty water was his only reminder that this harsh reality was indeed taking place around him. He watched as Helblindi hovered by a book left open on Loki’s bed . . . the contents marked the various stages of Jotun pregnancies, as marked by their distinct physiology, but hidden behind the cover of a historical textbook. Helblindi sniffed and smiled, as he called out:

“Talk to Frigga, Loki.”

The illusion broke. Loki watched as Helblindi vanished from sight, as if he were never there in the first place, and – with loud and broken laughter – he doubled over and let his tears fall fast from his eyes and drip onto the floor beneath him. It was clear that Helblindi could not stay for an extended time, yet the sense of rejection lingered . . . _unwanted, abandoned, discarded_. . . it took all his strength not to break down as he struggled to breathe.

Loki fell to his knees. He wept.


	20. Chapter 20

“Thrúd is beautiful.”

Sif stroked the long blonde locks. Thrúd lay with head on her lap, where she slept with small rises and falls of a tiny chest, and Sif could not help but tense and jerk any time Thrúd paused between breaths, while she relaxed her muscles on every fresh inhale. The sofa barely seemed enough room for adult and child, especially when so many toys and books littered half of the cushions, and – every few minutes – Thrúd would reach for her toy snake.

The stuffed toy crinkled in her strong grip, while she half-chewed at its green eye, and every so often Fandral would tease by feigning to take the toy away, only for her to shout out ‘no’ or ‘oaf’ and hold it ever tighter. Sif smiled and placed her hand on soft hair. It provided a small reassurance to feel Thrúd so close, although she daren’t move with the fear of waking the sleeping princess, and Fandral chuckled from across the lounge where he sat on the opposite couch. He nodded to her with a smirk and asked in a quiet voice:

“Do you ever think about trying again?”

Volstagg let out a billowing laugh. He walked around the room while collecting stray toys, before tossing them to Hogun who would bundle them inside a large chest, and Sif blushed at a question that came loaded with so many different implications. Fandral blushed in turn, until both were forced to look away at fixed and unimportant places. The scent of freshly baked breads and meats filled the air, providing a small distraction as her mouth watered, and servants bowed as they lay out a large buffet at the far side of the room.

They left as soon as they came, taking trolleys and trays with them, as Thrúd sniffed at the air and stirred in her sleep. The lounge was too silent. Sif was sure she could hear every heartbeat and every breath, while Hogun would occasionally grunt out a complaint and Volstagg would hum some old tune, and the roaring fire would crackle and roar with comforting warmth that spread over every surface. Sif looked back to Thrúd and smiled.

“One day,” confessed Sif.

“You’re still young,” chirped Volstagg. “There’s always time later in life! In the meantime, I think this little one misses Loki. Oh, our friend can claim to have no connection to her, but you should see how her eyes light up any time she hears his name. It’s adorable!”

“Speaking of which,” muttered Fandral. “How is Loki?”

“He is busy with the Allmother,” said Sif. “I do not know the full story, but the guards said that Loki burst into tears without cause and demanded to speak with the queen. Thor is currently with Jane, as they have much to discuss about Thrúd and her future here, but it has been an hour and Loki has still not finished with the Allmother. I am growing concerned.”

Volstagg stood with a loud sigh. He struggled to carry the large selection of soft toys, which threatened to spill over his arms and back onto the ground, and he turned his gaze from person to person with a furrowed brow. Sif noted that Fandral was clearly conflicted, with Hogun verging more on indifferent, but for Loki to spend so long with the Allmother – while not unusual – did not bode well off the back of an apparent breakdown. Sif leaned back against the sofa cushions, as she smoothed and Thrúd’s hair. Volstagg asked:

“Do you think we should tell Thor?”

“Loki is entitled to spend time with his mother,” said Hogun.

A cool silence fell over the group, as Sif bit hard into her lip. It was difficult to control how her heart raced, while a cold sweat broke over her frame, and – as she looked to Thrúd with a sad smile – a part of her struggled to hold back the confession of Loki’s condition. Fandral parted his legs and leaned forward, as he scratched at his beard with a loud exhale and a crick of his neck, before he glanced to Hogun with knitted eyebrows and called out:

“Well, no one is saying he _can’t_ talk with the Allmother, but –”

“There are also the rumours that he seeks to go to Jotunheim,” finished Sif. “I cannot imagine Thor is still oblivious to Loki’s wish to leave our realm, but Loki has yet to convince the Allfather that he is serious in his desires and still appears undecided. What if he has finally come to a decision? Thor would need to know. It is . . . complicated.”

“I don’t think it’s _that_ complicated,” muttered Fandral. “I will admit I am more concerned with what happens once Loki makes his recovery; after all, he must still be punished for his actions, but can he be held accountable if he was mentally ill at the time of acting?”

“I am unsure if mental illness can provide a defence. It is true he was not fully in his right mind, but he was in full control of his actions . . . he chose to avoid the healers, he chose to run away, and he chose to murder the people of Midgard . . . if the Allfather chooses to release him from his cell, he must still make recompense in some manner or form.”

“Do you think it’s better for him to go to Jotunheim, then? He could maybe make amends there by helping the survivors and rebuilding their society, while an annulment could make things a _lot_ easier for both of them. Loki could provide Helblindi an heir _not_ born from incest, and – as much as I do adore Loki – he’s _hardly_ proven himself a trustworthy fellow. If Jotunheim can be trusted to keep him safe, we would have one less issue to worry about.”

Hogun scoffed. He helped Volstagg with the last few toys, before he found a spot a few feet from Fandral on the old sofa, and turned his head to glare daggers at Fandral with narrowed eyes, before he huffed and leaned back with legs and arms crossed. Volstagg threw himself down beside Sif, but the jostle of the cushions disturbed Thrúd, who cried out and buried her face into her hands, until Volstagg sang her a sang and patted her back in a slow rhythm. The previous words were nearly forgotten, until Hogun finally broke the silence.

“Thor loves Loki,” observed Hogun.

Fandral winced and ran a hand over his face. Thrúd woke in those few minutes, as she climbed over to Volstagg and tugged at his beard, until – with a loud mantra of ‘ouch, ouch, ouch’ – he carried her to the tables of food spread out for consumption. Thrúd was allowed to reach out for certain foods, as she sat perched on Volstagg’s hips, and he would pile high a plate for her of all her chosen foods, while the others remained quiet. Hogun let out a low hum of frustration, as he stretched out with arms across the back of the sofa, as he said:

“It would break Thor’s heart to annul.”

“I – ah – have noticed that, yes,” muttered Fandral. “I would never want to see Thor or Loki heartbroken, but at the same time . . . you must admit things would be _much_ easier for them if they weren’t so incessantly in love! I still think that something was going on previous to the whole wedding fiasco, as it seems _awfully_ quick for them to have developed a relationship.”

“They were dating in secret for some years,” said Hogun.

“I think since they were sixteen,” added Sif.

“Sixteen? _Sixteen_?” Fandral gasped. “How did they ever keep _that_ a secret? Thor told me that their first time was some months ago, as a married couple, and – even then – Loki only received in turn a month or so ago, when they were trying for a child! You mean to tell me that . . . for a _millennium_. . .  I haven’t notice them making out or flirting or whatever else?”

“You never were the observant one,” teased Sif.

Fandral huffed and folded his arms across his chest. It was difficult to avoid a smile, as Sif thought back to so many times during their shared young adulthood . . . _Loki and Thor always insisting on sharing a tent on camping trips, Loki and Thor always sneaking away early from parties and suppers, and Loki and Thor always touching and embracing and side-by-side_. . . Sif glanced over toward Thrúd. Volstagg was on his way back to the sofa, where he juggled placing Thrúd down on one side and plates of food on the other side.

He barely found time to sit in the middle, before Thrúd crawled onto his lap and grabbed at a hard biscuit, and – with loud murmurs – gnawed hard on the side of her mouth to relieve pressure from a growing tooth, while Volstagg picked at the piece of a chicken wing. Fandral sighed across the room, even as Sif slid closer to fuss over Thrúd and help feed her, before he let out long groan of frustration and shouted out in a high-pitched voice:

“They thought they were brothers!”

“They _are_ brothers,” spat Sif. “Even if the law refuses to acknowledge this, they were raised together and were educated together, and they still consider each other very much brothers, even as their family tree adapts and grows. Yes, it is an incestuous union.”

“They are still biological cousins, too,” added Hogun.

“And yet they are in love with one another.”

A crease crept over Fandral’s brow. It appeared easy to acknowledge they loved one another now as husbands unrelated by law, but difficult to reconcile that with a pre-existing love between two siblings, and every few seconds he would open and close his mouth like a fish, even with hand half-raised as if to make a strong point. Sif brushed her hand through Thrúd’s hair and thought to Loki’s potential child . . . _borne from two cousins, half-Jotun in nature, heir to one throne and spare to another_. . . Sif swallowed hard and choked out:

“We need to talk to Thor.”

“Why?” Fandral asked. “You said it yourself that Loki has yet to make up his mind, while the Allmother is with him and best knows his mind, and – so long as she is with him – we have nothing to worry about! Even if Loki chooses to go to Jotunheim, I doubt it would be the end of his relationship with Thor . . . seeing as it’s been going on for a thousand years.”

“That is a fair point,” said Volstagg. “Helblindi is rumoured to be offering an early pardon, isn’t he? I suppose he seeks to build a relationship with Loki, or have Loki pay off his debts on Jotunheim somehow, but that doesn’t mean they can’t still be together.”

“A truly political union! Loki as Helblindi’s heir and Thor as Odin’s?”

“Any child between them could still serve as Helblindi’s heir, too.”

“I must admit, a break abroad could do Loki some good.”

Sif pinched the bridge of her nose. A brief sound – like a click or a knock – echoed out somewhere behind her, but she ignored it in her quest to gather courage for the inevitable conversation that would ensue, and drew in a deep breath to calm her mind. Thrúd ate a small fruit salad beside her with tiny hands covered in juice, while her lips were pulled into a messy smile, and Sif laughed to see her innocence and said with more warmth than intended:

“Loki is pregnant.”

The room fell silent. Volstagg visibly flinched, enough that Thrúd was jolted forward and dropped her piece of orange with a loud cry, and – in a desperate attempt to stop her tears – Volstagg fussed and fidgeted with her plate of food in an attempt to distract her, while Hogun began a loud and awkward coughing fit just opposite them. Fandral fell pale. He leaned forward with a hand on his knee, while he waved his other hand in the air as he continued to gape like a fish on land. All eyes turned to Sif, as she cast her head down. Fandral asked:

“Come again?”

“I promised that I would remain silent,” confessed Sif. “How can I remain silent any longer? I cannot prove my suspicions, but I have every reason to suspect that his desire to leave for Jotunheim links into Helblindi’s offer of a pardon in return for his release. If Thor and the Allfather remain oblivious to the pregnancy, perhaps he seeks to exchange his child in return for his freedom. He would do anything to avoid a Jotun form, you know that.”

“That’s a rather cold accusation,” whispered Fandral.

“Loki must be punished for his crimes. It is likely the Allfather will release Loki, if only just so that Loki can conceive and provide an heir to keep the terms of the treaty, and yet he will need a guarantee that Loki will not break his house arrest. You know as well as I that Loki will _never_ wish to be seen in Jotun form, so there is no risk of his escape.”

“So you think he is deciding whether to sacrifice his unborn child to keep his Asgardian form? That is rather cold . . . if he does that, he would be proving himself to be the monster that the world believes all Jotuns to be! No, he’s always been a self-serving fellow, but he’s not the sort to betray Thor by selling his child to the Jotuns. Good Lord, that’s the sort of thing from an old children’s story. Besides, can we be certain he is pregnant?”

“He says he had it confirmed by a healer in town,” said Sif.

Fandral fell back against the sofa. Hogun let out a grunt, while Thrúd struggled in Volstagg’s grip as he strove to wipe her face from the excess food, and – in a loud voice – all that could be heard was ‘no, no clean’. It lightened the mood of the room and brought small smiles to all faces, even as the fire roared and sent shadows across the floor as night descended on them, while the natural light from the balcony died down and darkened the room. A loud hiss of breath echoed about the room, although Sif failed to discern from who it emitted.

“How long?” Fandral asked.

“I believe five or six weeks,” said Sif. “He is nearly into his second bimester.”

“He would be a good father,” said Volstagg. “You know, I always thought him to be the asexual sort as he grew up? He shunned all sexual attentions. He never flirted with any other person. He was so _obsessed_ with his academics and ambitions . . . it never occurred to me that he was simply a taken man acting the part of a disinterested single man.”

“Will he be a good father, though? He loathes children,” observed Fandral. “It’s one thing to get on with Thrúd, as he skipped all the first year and only has her for a few hours at most, and it’s easy to hand her back and get on with his life, but to be a _father_ -?”

“That is if he chooses to keep the child,” added Hogun.

“ _He has no choice in the matter_ ,” called a voice.

All four jumped at the sudden sound.

Sif rose to her feet and turned around, where – far across the lounge – Jane and Thor stood by the wide doors that marked the border to the hallways beyond, and he dominated the frames until little could be seen of the wood or designs. He was flushed red and his nostrils flared, while his hands were clenched until veins bulged in his arms. The heave to his chest spoke of fast and forced breaths. He glared hard at Sif with half-narrowed eyes.

Jane scratched at her elbow with a nervous smile, as she pulled at some unseen thread and soon walked across the room with a lowered head, as if to say ‘don’t mind me, I’m not here’, and whisked Thrúd into her arms with a loud squeal of glee on sight. Thrúd babbled aimlessly in response, even as Jane sat down and fed her small slices of food with exaggerated gasps and cheers, but Thor . . . ever angry, ever desperate . . . marched forward and slammed both hands onto the back of the sofa. Volstagg jumped to his feet.

“Thor,” Volstagg called. “How much did you hear?”

“Loki is pregnant?” Thor asked. “This is confirmed? The desire to go to Jotunheim is new to me, but I will not allow my unborn child to be taken from me and sold as a political pawn! If Loki wishes to abort or renounce custody, that is one thing, but I will not have him birth my child without my knowledge and give that child to another! There is no debate to be had.”

“He has yet to make a decision,” added Sif. “Loki is still recovering and still mentally ill, and I do not think he is thinking with a clear mind . . . he fears the child would be abused for being Jotun, and I think this is why he sought to enslave those on Earth, so the child –”

“– would have a kingdom to themselves.”

“That is what I believe, yes.”

Thor cursed and slammed his hands down hard. The sofa rocked with the force of the blow, nearly to break in two with the strength employed, and Thrúd screamed out with the jostle and refused to cease even as Jane rocked her with gentle pats of her back. Thor struggled to see through tears in his eyes, clear from how he rapidly blinked and gnawed at his lips, until he pushed himself away and paced back and forth with heavy footsteps. Hogun walked over to him and stopped him with a mere touch. Thor calmed and brought his hands to his face.

He breathed deep through cupped hands, as he let Hogun squeeze at his shoulder. A tear ran down his cheek and onto his lip, while he sniffed loudly and shook his head, and Sif came around to offer support in turn, as she watched him smile and nod to them. No one dared say a word, as Thrúd continued to weep and fought to be let down on the floor. Thor hid his tears as she ran to him. He patted at her head, as Sif scooped her into a warm embrace.

“I will go to my husband,” spat Thor. “Tell Odin of this.”

“You want Odin to know about this?”

“My father needs to put a stop to any plans to transfer Loki.”

Fandral stood and began to utter an objection, but was stopped dead from a dark snarl from Thor’s lips. It was clear Thor was in no gaming mood. Thor already marched toward the main doors with cape billowing out behind him, until his hands slammed down on the handles and threw them open to expose the hallway beyond. He froze with the light from the halls illuminating him until he appeared every bit a prince, and he said over his shoulder:

“Please, see Jane back to Midgard.”

Sif watched as Thor marched out of sight. He disappeared along the corridor in the direction of the main courtyards, where he would no doubt head directly towards the dungeons, and Sif could only imagine – with a heavy heart and a rolling stomach – what kind of confrontation would follow with Loki being so broken in mind. Thrúd struggled in her hold, as she reached out towards her father with clenching hands, and no warm words or gentle touches would soothe here, as she called out ‘daddy’. There was nothing more left to say.  

Thor was gone.


	21. Chapter 21

Loki stood tall.

A smile played across his lips, as he rocked on his heels, and – lifting his head high – he clasped his hands behind his back and straightened his shoulders. The energy barriers sparked before him, burning harsh lights onto his retinas, until they finally dropped and allowed inside a cool breeze, which rustled his hair and brushed against his cheeks. Loki closed his eyes and breathed deep, as he appreciated the illusion of freedom.

He reopened his eyes to gaze on Frigga. The hem of her blue sleeves was frayed, as she played with the material and scratched at her hands, and her lips would press and purse each time she glanced in his general direction. Loki noted how she kept her head low and hunched her shoulders, which nearly brought him to her side, as he noted how her blonde locks fell to shadow her face and hide eyes that shimmered with unshed tears. Two guards stood behind their desk, so that their presence framed her and formed a triangle in the room beyond.

Loki stepped forward. The guards jolted to full attention. He rolled his eyes and scoffed, as he stopped just short of his cell, and turned his gaze to Frigga who refused to meet his eye, even as she sent covert glances toward his stomach, and suddenly . . . _it made sense_. A cold wave of dread washed over him, as bile rose to the back of his throat and a dizzy spell sent him stumbling backward, and he fought for breath as he forced eye-contact.

“You wanted to talk,” whispered Loki.

He dropped his hands to his stomach, where trembling fingers brushed against the leather. Frigga followed every movement and every gesture, while her expression hardened and eyes narrowed, and he knew – _he knew_ – that this was no longer about rehabilitation or punishment, but the final realisation he was with child. The cell remained in immaculate condition, even as his _seiðr_ coursed through every vein and brought pins-and-needles to his skin, and he struggled to control his breathing, even as Frigga commanded in a low voice:

“Tell me about your deal with Helblindi.”

Loki gasped, even as he forced a smile. Lips trembled. He brought his legs together and folded his arms before him, as he lowered his head and stared down. It was impossible to prevent unshed tears from clouding his vision, even as he rapidly blinked and struggled to maintain that shaking smirk, and he gave an exaggerated shrug with a jerk of his head. A lump formed hard in his throat, which he swallowed down and fought to find his voice.

“There is nothing to tell,” lied Loki.

“I know the truth, Loki,” whispered Frigga. “I have suspected your pregnancy for some time, which was confirmed to me by Lady Sif, and your father has spoken in great detail of your abrupt desire to return to Jotunheim. Odin and Thor may be unaware of the greater picture, but it is not difficult to connect the dots, Loki. I wish you would talk to me.”

“If you know all the facts, what is there left for me to tell?” Loki let out a low laugh. “Do you simply wish to hear the sordid details from my mouth? I have yet to make a formal decision, but I was made an offer to exchange my firstborn for my freedom. That is all.”

“That is all?” Frigga asked.

Loki clenched his hands over his stomach. The stretch of leather was cool to the touch, while the texture was smooth like skin and reminiscent of what lay beneath, and – as he felt the familiar butterflies – a part of him wondered how long it would be until there were kicks and handprints. Frigga hummed and stepped toward the cell, until she was only a few steps from entering by his side, and he saw the sternness to her expression that emphasised the lines about her eyes, while she stared hard at him with a familiar maternal discipline. Frigga said:

“You called me here, Loki. You would not have done so if that were all.”

“He offered to fully pardon me effective as immediately,” confessed Loki. “It would allow me to travel to Jotunheim, where Helblindi would announce his ‘pregnancy’, and I would later announce that I miscarried. In exchange for him raising my child as his own, I would be able to forgo any punishment from the Allfather. I could avoid a Jotun form. It is a difficult decision, which is why he told me to confess all to you, but . . . you already knew.”

“I already knew, yes,” said Frigga. “I have kept quiet, as I wanted the decision to be yours and yours alone, but Sif grows worried and it will not be long before she tells Thor out of a desire to protect both you and the unborn child. Your father will learn of things in turn, thus forbidding you a departure from our realm. The decision will no longer be yours to make.”

“A part of me has considered that the cause for my delay. If the decision is made for me, I no longer have to endure the responsibility that comes from that . . . I cannot be blamed for having made the wrong decision. I sometimes wonder if that is not a decision in itself.”

“Loki you must make up your mind and soon.” Frigga winced. “Even if Thor and Odin keep you here on Asgard, you may live with guilt at having believed yourself capable of giving away your child. You may also regret that you had not given away your child, and I do not wish for that indecision to burden you, as you will never know what you may have done. For your own piece of mind, you must make up your mind. What do you wish?”

Loki walked back to the _chaise longue._ He sat down on the soft cushions and allowed his fingers to trace over the velvet material . . . _memories of sitting on Frigga’s knee, while Odin told great and grand stories with animated expressions, and Thor at her feet with loud yawns as he coloured on some old papers . . ._ Loki smiled and brought his hands on his stomach. It was too easy to envision a new life with his family, but with his parents playing the part of doting grandparents as Thor told old tales and the child sat on his knee, but . . .

A glance to the mural on the wall revealed three figures . . . _Asgardian figures._ Loki clenched his hands until knuckles turned white, while he clenched his jaw until his teeth ached, and – as his heart raced and eyes watered – he knew that no one ever pictured a Jotun with a fragile babe in its arms. He let out a sound between a laugh and a sob, as he massaged his temples and shook his head with a half-broken smirk. The world ran cold around him.

“You said it yourself,” said Loki. “The choice is no longer mine.”

“But if it were? What would you decide?”

“I think I would bear forth the child.” Loki flinched. “I cannot promise I would wish to remain in their life, but their birth would secure me a pardon from Helblindi, and that would enable me to leave should I so desire to leave. The only thing that worries me is that – with the pardon delayed until the birth itself – Odin would be forced to punish me.”

Frigga took the last few steps into the cell. The soft sound of her footsteps echoed about the three walls and provided a small distraction, until she sat beside him with a small dip of the cushions, and – with a smile – a hand came out to take his hand with a squeeze. He squeezed back and ran his hand over soft and wrinkled skin, while he noticed how any pressure left small red marks on otherwise white skin. It was beautiful. It was Asgardian. Loki gnawed at the inside of his cheek, while Frigga leaned close into his personal space, as she said:

“You fear being forced into your Jotun form.”

“Do you not bear that same fear?” Loki blinked away tears. “You may love me the same, but you would forever look at me and see the blood of the man that stole your husband’s eye. I could not bear to have my one source of support stolen away. Thor sought any excuse to war with the Jotun, Father called them monsters . . . what would you think?”

“Do you presume to know my mind, my son? You would think me so shallow as to see you for anything other than your soul? You are the son that fed in my arms. You the son that slept beside me after bad dreams. You are the son of Frigga and no one else!”

“By law I now belong to Laufey,” laughed Loki.

He brought a hand to wipe away a tear. The guards appeared uncomfortable, as they were now so far back that they pressed themselves to a far wall, and he knew that they would hear every other word spoken above a whisper, even as they feigned otherwise by looking in all directions except toward prince and queen. Loki jerked his head away from her, as she sought to stroke at his cheek with a saddened smile, and asked in a cold voice:

“How did you get them to drop the energy barrier?”

Frigga allowed her hand to linger just a few inches from his cheek, until – with a frown – she pulled away and allowed her free hand to fall in her lap, even as the fingers of the other entwined with Loki and held him tight. The breeze caught at her blonde locks, as she lowered her head and tugged at her skirts with long nails, until a long thread came loose and she was forced to abandon it before more damage was achieved. Realisation dawned. Loki laughed and yanked his hand away from hers, as tears fell down his cheeks and tasted bitter on his lips.

“You told them,” whispered Loki.

“I arranged for a full check-up with the healers,” said Frigga. “You will return to your rooms afterward, where you will be placed under full house-arrest, and we will move forward – _as a family_ – to work with you to decide what is best for you and your child. I would have supported you regardless of what you decided, just as I will support you regardless of what you decide now, but you must understand every decision you make is a win-win for Helblindi.

“If you choose to abort, he will have cause for war. If you choose to raise the child yourself, he will still have his heir. If you had chosen to give the child to him, he would have complete control over his heir. Do not make your decision with him in mind, but instead make your decision based on _your_ wants and needs, as the consequences shall affect you alone.”

“And if he declares war on us, should I abort?”

“We will call his bluff on such a war.”

“You would allow thousands to die simply to prevent one life?” Loki scoffed. “What if I choose not to raise this child? What if I grow to hate this child and flee? It is not simply the political ramifications, but the consequences on my relationship with Thor . . . do you truly think he would forgive me should I leave this child solely in his care? He would hate me.

“That is not to mention that the Jotun form is a dominant trait! Odin and Helblindi were lucky to avoid such a curse, but how will I explain to my son why he looks so different? How will I protect him from the stares and comments and abuse? If he does not grow to hate me, what of Odin who forced this form on me and kept me as his _Asgardian_ son? Do you think Thor would still be attracted to me? Do you think he would allow himself to be taken by a Jotun?”

Loki buried his face into his hands. He missed very much the mornings spent in strong and muscular arms, where Thor would kiss at his neck and complain about the ache in his rear, while the scent of sex and sweat pervaded the air, and Loki would purr in contentment as he prayed the sun would never rise to stop their embrace. No more kisses. No more touches. It was too much to dream that Thor would desire one with blue skin and red eyes, as the tears clogged his throat and sweat stung at his eyes, until he openly cried on the _chaise longue_.

“I would lose _everything_ ,” spat Loki.

A warm hand squeezed at his shoulder, as he threw himself at his mother. Two arms wrapped around him, as he held tight to her and buried his face into her neck, and – with a shuddered sigh – the tears mostly stopped and he found strength to breathe once more. The scent of her perfume was still the same after all those centuries, while she stroked at his hair as if he were still the small boy that would crawl into her bed after nightmares of the Jotuns. Frigga swore:

“You would have my unconditional love.”

“Oh? Is that so?” Loki laughed. “What of Odin? What of Thor? Even if I could believe that a mother’s love could be so blind, Odin is the one who _forced_ me into the dungeons for having taken a mere handful of lives compared to what he has taken himself. He is the one that said it was birthright to die. He is the one that always favoured Thor, who always –”

“Loki, is he not the one who taught you to read? I remember that is was not _I_ who kissed your scraped knee and gave you that first sip of mead, just as it was not _Thor_ who engaged you in your first sparring match and cheered when you won. Your father may not –”

“ _He is not my father_!” Loki screamed.

“Then am I not your mother?”

Loki slowly extricated himself from her embrace. He moved his eyes over her form, as his eyes watered and his heart raced in his chest, and he saw in her the hope . . . _the love, the affection, the heartbreak_. . . he opened his mouth and closed it again, as he struggled to find words and choked back on bile, until he forced a half-smile that failed to reach his eyes. He sat straight and lifted his head high, before he finally found the courage to speak the words.

“No, you are not,” lied Loki.

A long few seconds fell between them, as Loki fought back oncoming tears. He watched as her lip trembled and her face contorted, before she brought the back of her thumb to the corners of her eyes with a sniff, and – with a slow nod toward him – she slowly stood and let out a staggered breath with a shaking smile. The silence between them lingered. Every beat of his heart echoed loudly in his ears, as he saw how her face paled.

Frigga allowed a tear to roll down her cheek. The world moved as if in slow-motion, as she turned her back on him and took a step forward towards the guards, and he lost himself in the rustling of her skirts and the waves to her hair, before an overwhelming sense of dread and guilt consumed him. Loki threw out his hand. He grabbed at her wrist and held tight, until he feared that he might bruise the flesh beneath, and – as his fingers trembled – he looked up to her with head craned back and tears fresh on his cheeks. Loki forced a smile.

“Please, stay,” pleaded Loki. “I am sorry.”

A soft sight escaped her lips, as she smiled and sat beside him. Two hands were brought to his face, while she brushed away his tears and felt his forehead, and he laughed as she fussed over him as if he were no more than a child, before she pressed a kiss to his head and pulled back to narrow his gaze in a stern reprimand. He winced and whispered one more ‘sorry’, while she straightened his shirt and patted down the creases to his coat. Frigga ordered:

“Do not push away those that love you, Loki.”

“That is easy to say when _you_ are loved.”

“Loki, you must also not presume others’ feelings,” chided Frigga. “I will mention this to the healers, but you _must_ know that we will never lie to you and never manipulate you. If you have upset us, we will tell you. If you have angered us, we will show you. Each time you deny your love for another, it is likely that person shall believe you, and I know that your father stays at a distance as he believes this is what you _want_. He takes you at your word.”

“I know that communication isn’t our family’s forte, but I have spent a _lifetime_ being silenced or pressured or mocked for any words expressed. I am a man known for his ‘silver tongue’ and _seiðr_ , but then teased when it ‘turns to lead’ or dismissed for mere ‘tricks’. I find it hard to believe that they could react well should I tell them that I feel unloved.”

“You will not know unless you _try_ , my love.” Frigga smiled. “Has Thor not changed? He listens more to you and accommodates your needs. These are not the actions of a man who does not love you or who puts conditions on his love. They love you, I swear.”

“But they love Loki Odinson,” said Loki. “Loki Laufeyson –?”

“Will be loved just as much, I promise you this.”

Loki drew in a deep breath with a smile. The cell fell into a comfortable silence, as Frigga hummed an old tune and wiped at his face with a clean handkerchief, until – as he swatted her away – she laughed and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Frigga stood and offered him her hand. He rose with a sigh, before she gently brushed at some imaginary speck of dust over his stomach, where it was obvious she sought an excuse to pet at her unborn grandchild without asking for consent. Loki made to chastise her, but was soon stopped. A voice screamed out:

“ _Loki, I would have words with you_!”

A cold chill ran through every vein. Loki swallowed back his fear, as his heart raced and his mind grew clouded, and he struggled to maintain his smile as he looked toward the stairwell, where a familiar face stood blocking the doorframe from sight. Thor was flushed. He hunched forward with flared nostrils and bared teeth, while his hands clenched until knuckles turned white and nails dug crescent-shaped cuts into his palms. Loki stumbled back.

He threw his hands in a gesture of surrender, as Thor marched forward with cape flaring behind him, and – as every step hammered on the tiles underfoot – Loki fumbled over his words and let out a string of unintelligible excuses. Thor stopped only when Loki could move no more. He was rammed against the wall with back painfully straight, while Thor slammed his hands down on either side of his head. Pinned into place, Loki nervously smiled and tried to crane his head away from the warm breath already hot against his nose.

“You lied to me,” spat Thor.

Loki winced as a spray of spit struck his face. It took all his self-control not to make a comment, as he brushed away the liquid with the side of his hand, and cocked his head to the side with a scrunched and sarcastic smile. The pupils to Thor’s eyes were mere pinpricks, while every line on his brow was far deeper than Loki ever remembered, and Frigga was already beside them with loud gasps and furious protests, as she struck at Thor’s arm only to be shrugged away as he continued his contemptuous stare over Loki’s form.

“I merely omitted the truth,” said Loki.

“No, you _lied_ , Loki,” spat Thor. “I asked you over and over about this pregnancy, but each and every time you told me that I was mistaken and you were not with child! I did not press the matter. Aye, I believed I was mistaken. It was possible that I misread the symptoms. It was possible that you would have come to me in your own time. _Did you take me for a fool_?”

“Often,” teased Loki. “Thor, I know you are angry, but you _must_ know that my decision was in your benefit as much as mine! If I chose to abort, you would have grieved the loss of an unborn chid, and I sought to spare you that level of pain. I did you a favour.”

“If you were not pregnant, I would be tempted to strike you!” Thor pointed a finger between Loki’s eyes and jabbed just above the nose. “Do you wish for me to believe that? Even if you did not lie, do you think I would rather live in blissful ignorance than to be at your side and help you through the most difficult decision of your life? Oh, but we know why you lied. You lied to hide the fact you sought to sell our child to Helblindi! _Damn it, Loki_!”

Thor pulled away. Loki fell forward with an audible gasp, as he rubbed at his throat and touched at the spot just above his nose, while he relished in the return of his personal space, but Thor turned on Frigga . . . he towered over her, he leaned into her . . . it spoke of great confidence and trust that she showed no sign of fear. Frigga held her ground. She held her head high like a proud queen, but her narrowed eyes and pursed lips spoke of the livid indignation of a mother before the tantrums of a child. Thor pointed fingers at her.

“You kept this from me?” Thor spat. “You _knew_ what he was considering and covered for him? You and Father are nought but hypocrites! Did you learn nothing from hiding the truth of Loki’s heritage? You would have allowed my child to live a lie in total ignorance? What do we even know of Helblindi’s motives? What did you assume about my reaction? I have a _right_ to know what happens to my child, even if you think otherwise!”

“Thor,” said Frigga coldly. “Do not speak to me in such a manner.”

“Yes, Thor,” teased Loki. “Respect our mother.”

Thor roared out until his voice broke. He threw himself toward Loki and grabbed by his lapel, as the two guards stormed forward and were held back only by a raised hand of Frigga, and Loki clawed at Thor’s fist as he was visibly lifted several inches from the floor, until his toes scratched at the tiles for purchase. Loki swallowed hard. He struggled to see through unshed tears, as vision blurred and sweat stung at his eyes. Thor was on the verge of breaking point, his fist unbreakable and unmoving, and Loki fought for breath as he choked on bile.

“What do you have to say for yourself, Loki?”

“I am a _Jotun_ , Thor!” Tears ran down his cheeks. “I spent every day for these past six or so weeks _terrified_ that I would become my biological father . . . I worried that I would abandon my child as I was abandoned, just as I worried I might lie to them as our parents lied to us, and I knew that whatever I chose -? My child would be Jotun, too.

“I am growing to accept and appreciate them as a race, but our child will be a Jotun in an Asgardian world . . . our people loathe the Jotuns! The best case is that our child will seek to leave the _second_ they come of age, so that we lose them to Jotunheim, and the worst case is they will grow to hate themselves as I hate myself. Still, even if I were to be a parent, we both know Odin Allfather shall force me to live as a Jotun in turn. That, I could not endure.”

“Why could you not discuss this with me?” Thor begged. “I could have put your mind to rest! I could have helped you make a decision. I could have worked at further eliminating the racism in our realm. I could have pleaded with the Allfather, but you -!”

“I did what I needed to do! Do I regret my actions that day? _Yes_ , Thor. I would not have sought revenge on Jotunheim in that manner, not had I known that they grieved and loved and endured just as _we_ experience those things, but I did not know that they were complex in culture or history. Still, that does not mean I _want_ to be associated with them. It does not mean I would inflict that upon a child in the process! I want more for our son.”

“Do you care what _I_ want for him?” Thor asked. “You would have stolen my child from me, gifting them to our cousin without my consent, and you think I could have forgiven you for this deed, knowing you deprived me of a chance to be in their life? No. _No_. This child stays here, Loki, and that is not up for debate! How could you have done this?”

“I never formally made a decision,” said Loki.

Thor let go of Loki’s lapel. Loki dropped to his feet, as he rubbed at his chest and coughed to clear his throat, while the hot taste of tears fell bitter on his tongue, and Thor – pacing back and forth, back and forth – let out loud snarls on every other breath. Frigga ran to Loki’s side, as she fretted and fussed about his chest and face, and he swallowed back further tears about her concern for his health, even as he reached out to hold her hands and press chaste kisses to warm fingers in an attempt at reassurance. Thor stopped centre of the cell and whispered out:

“You would have given them away to avoid being Jotun?”

“Do not act as if I am nothing but a selfish monster,” spat Loki through tears. “Do you know what it is like to live a lie? Do you know what it is like to despise every mirror? How often have you looked at yourself . . . _truly looked_. . . I would not have chosen to be Asgardian over being a father, but – yes – it was a _damned_ tempting choice to make, Thor.”

A cold silence descended on them. Thor turned to stare over his shoulder, as his eyes raked up and down over Loki’s frail form, and – with a curl of his lip – he snapped his head back and clenched his muscles until veins bulged against his flesh. There was a visible flash of electric over his skin, before it died away with a long sight from pale lips. Thor hunched his shoulders. Loki gently pulled away from Frigga, as he panted for breath and struggled to maintain a trembling smile, until Thor shook his head with a broken laugh.

“I am done with you, Loki,” spat Thor.

The world crashed around Loki. Thor walked away. It was as if time slowed, so that Loki was hyperaware of every step and every sound . . . _the folds of his cape as it swept behind him, the squeak of leather from his trousers on each stride, and the waves of his blond locks as they blew about him_. . . Thor moved ever closer and closer to the stairwell. A severe pain struck at Loki’s chest, as all breath left his body in one cruel blow. He choked on laughter.

Loki stumbled back. He braced himself against the wall, as bright spots blinded his vision and grew like a kaleidoscope across his retinas, while a dizzy wave of nausea rose from his stomach and burned every inch behind his chest. Frigga moved towards him, but he stopped her with a sound between a scream and a sob, until – with a loud gasp – she stood to the side with tears visibly brimming behind clasped hands. The cell grew cold, as Loki’s skin ached as if dozens of insects crawled over his flesh, and he coughed and spluttered through tears.

“Fine,” wept Loki. “Walk away! I knew you would!”

Thor stopped dead in his tracks. The guards stood to full attention, as their armour clicked and they looked from face to face, and Loki could only sob . . . tears streaming until his eyes hurt and his throat felt torn in two . . . unable to look at Thor, unable to hide his shame from the world . . . he sniffed and laughed and fought back a brewing scream. Loki felt his hands close of their own accord, as muscles contracted against his will. He grew faint.

He slowly slid further down the wall, until he was half-stood and half-fallen. A glance across the dungeon revealed Thor frozen in place . . . _head low, hands clenched . . ._ Loki retched and gagged, while Thor faded in and out of view as the world spun around them. Thor turned. It was enough to catch Loki’s attention, no matter how brief, as Thor stormed towards him with fast and rapid strides that verged on a run, and – as he watched Thor come at him with arms outstretched and faced contorted – he winced in expectation of the inevitable blow.

None came.

Thor threw his arms around Loki and yanked him close. It was a warm embrace, both tight and secure, and – as Thor took and supported Loki’s full weight – something broke inside him at having Thor so completely surround him. Loki buried his hands into the fabric of the cape, as he wept against muscled shoulder until every wracked sob brought pain and choked gasps for air, and he barely heard as Frigga cried into her handkerchief a few feet away from them, before she headed towards the base of the stairwell. Thor sniffed above Loki.

“I hate what you did,” said Thor. “I do not hate you.”

“You – You were going to leave me.”

“I was going to give us some space, so that I may calm down.”

Thor buried his nose into Loki’s hair, where he breathed deep and screwed shut his eyes, and yet – through his desire to hide his face – Loki still felt each and every tear that dropped onto the crown of his head and saturated his hair. He lifted his head until noses touched and watery eyes finally met, and he reached up to wipe away the tears that stained rosy cheeks, while Thor half-smiled and did the same in turn. The intimacy helped ease Loki’s heart, even as the heavy sweat on his skin grew uncomfortable, and he found a small sense of peace.

“Guards, come,” said Frigga. “My sons require space.”

Loki listened as their footsteps died away, even as the guards questioned the decision of the Allmother, and yet – as silence finally reigned – something broke inside Loki . . . he wept openly before Thor, clinging to him desperately with a mantra of ‘ _damn you’_. Thor ran his hands through Loki’s hair, as he laughed through his tears in turn, while pressing dozens of kisses to Loki’s hair, and soon he pulled back with his hand tightening just enough to yank at black hair with a hiss of pain. Thor quickly let go, as he bit his lip and swore:

“I will never abandon you, Loki.”

“Will – Will you still say that when I am J-Jotun?” Loki sniffed. “Y-You – You did not see me in that form, Thor! You did not see our father’s fear and how he jolted back, just as you did not see how Heimdall came at me with such fury. Will you still trust me? Will you not be ashamed to be seen with me? Will you still _desire_ me when night comes?”

“I will always desire you.” Thor laughed through tears. “If our being brothers did not dissuade me, a change of form most certainly shall not! I will admit that I never found the Jotuns attractive, but then I never found men attractive . . . I find _you_ attractive, though.”

“Is that meant to be a compliment?”

“You won me over when no other could, Loki.”

A furrow of his brow indicated conflict. Thor looked Loki over, before his eyes focussed solely on his stomach with a narrowing that brought deep lines to his expression, and he stepped back even as he pressed callused hands to Loki’s shoulders. The touch reminded Loki that he was still wanted and loved, but the distance reminded him of Thor’s enduring rage and lack of trust. They remained stood in silence, as Thor gnawed at the inside of his cheeks and let out a low hiss of breath, and soon Thor nodded slowly at him.

“I will speak to Father,” said Thor.

“What good shall that accomplish, Husband?”

“He must know about your condition.” Thor sighed. “I will not risk my child being taken out of our realm, so precautions must be put into place, and Helblindi must know – even if his offer to you is rejected – we will keep our treaty to avoid war. I assume you wish to at least birth this child? We also must talk about how you wish to proceed past that.”

“I do not wish to think past that point,” spat Loki.

“Aye, I know, but we must. I will follow your lead on this, Loki, but know that – whatever you decide – I _will_ be a father to our child . . . if you do not wish to be a father, I will still love you and support you, but know that you will still come into contact with them. I cannot realistically keep you both separated at all times, while we both agreed long ago never to lie to any potential child, so they will know that you bore them into this world.”

Loki locked eyes with Thor, who slid his hand to clasp Loki’s neck. The words were cold and yet truthful, as a prince of Asgard and Jotunheim would have the same free reign as any other member of royalty, and that meant constant interactions . . . _meals taken together, passing in hallways, shared royal duties . . ._ Loki remembered the times he and Thor swore never to speak to one another again, only to be forced side-by-side at weddings or funerals or state events. Loki pinched at his hands and played with his fingers, as he whispered:

“What happens now?”

A low sigh escaped Thor’s lips. He brushed his thumb along Loki’s jaw, before he dropped his hand and shook his head, and he half-turned to gaze about the dungeon, as he said nothing for the longest time. Loki brought his fingers to his stomach, as he traced patterns along the leather with a loud sniff and another tear, and soon Thor turned back and clasped his tear-stained cheeks in both hands with a trembling lip and a sad smile. Thor whispered:

“Now you will leave this cells.”

“In Asgardian form?”

“I doubt Father will allow that,” confessed Thor. “We must stay in the dungeons for the time being, but soon Father will formally allow you to rejoin us in the palace, and it will be at that point he will likely force upon you a Jotun form. Know this, though, Loki: I may be furious with you enough to desire space, but I will return to you when calm. I love you.”

“I love you, too, but – if anyone asks – I never said a word.” Loki smiled through his tears. “In all seriousness, I cannot bear to be Jotun. _I am afraid_. If I am to take Jotun form, promise me that you will not go far in your desire for space? Let us be alone _together_?”

“Like when we were children?”

“You would sit in silence beside me,” said Loki. “We would refuse to say a word to one another, both lost in our thoughts, but the very _second_ someone dared to intervene we would fall to the unknowing bait and join forces . . . supporting one another and there for one another. It would be a good compromise, yes? Please, do not leave me.”

“I swear I will never leave your side, Husband.”

“Will you swear it again, for me?”

Thor threw his arms around Loki and held him tight once more. The sudden kindness brought Loki back to tears, as he wept into the crook of Thor’s neck and clung to his chest, while warm hands ran circles over his back and Thor hummed into his ear. They stayed locked together until the tears finally died away and Loki found the strength to let go, and Thor – with a dark frown – stroked at his hair and reached for his hand. Loki reached back and allowed the display of affection, as Thor squeezed and swore to him:

“I will never leave your side.”


	22. Chapter 22

“You are beautiful,” swore Thor.

A cool breeze blew through the open balcony. It caught at Loki’s black hair, perfumed by various incenses, and sent a rich scent into the air that brought Thor ever closer, as he wrapped his arms around the slim waist before the mirror. He buried his face against a cool shoulder, while he drew deep breath with nose lost in black locks. Loki said nothing. Thor allowed his fingers to trace patterns over the small swell of stomach, while Loki continued to stare with unblinking red eyes into his reflection . . . no words, no expression . . .

He stood naked, even as Thor remained dressed for a long sleep. Thor allowed his eyes to fall down every ridged pattern on blue skin, which appeared to grace every single inch of flesh, and took a surreptitious glance to an impressive member that was still nestled in a thatch of black curls . . . the same length and the same girth . . . every muscle was still just as toned and just as powerful as before, every inch of skin just as smooth and sleek.

The soft silk of Thor’s night-shirt caught on the ridges of a now Jotun back, where the shirt would crease and pull as it exposed his stomach and let flesh touch flesh, and the very touch of that flesh was cool like the underside of a pillow or a refrigerated glass on a hot day, so that it was both a comfort and a curse. Thor drew in a deep breath. He saw how Loki stared with such focus on his reflection, without ever moving a single muscle unless Thor guided him into changing his pose or moving a limb. He seemed no more than a living doll.

“Come,” pleaded Thor. “Let us move away from the mirror?”

 _No response_. Loki continued to stare with glassy eyes, while Thor placed kisses to his neck and let his lips linger on cool skin, but – as Loki remained ever silent – he soon slid his hands along blue flesh with a low sigh, until his hands finally came to rest on muscular shoulders. It was far from a comforting touch. The muscles were hard and tense, while Loki merely straightened his back as if to pull himself away from the touches. Thor pleaded:

“It has been six hours, Loki.”

Loki jerked where he stood. Red eyes rapidly blinked, as Loki ran his hands over his face. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, while he let out a shuddered breath, but – as he pulled his hands away – he saw the blue skin on his palms and curled his lip. A long few second passed, where Loki simply opened and clenched his hands in a rapid succession. Tears pricked at his eyes. Thor held his tongue, even as Loki turned around and tears slowly fell from his eyes and down his cheeks. Thor watched as tears struck the ground, as Loki whispered:

“I have been standing here for that long?”

“Loki, I am afraid,” confessed Thor. “The healers have threatened to take you into the infirmary, should you continue to stand so catatonic, and – if I am honest – I am beginning to think that it may be necessary to your mental health. I can understand being so lost in thought, especially as this is a severe trauma in itself, but I cannot watch you lose yourself to madness after you have come so far in your recovery process! I cannot lose you, Loki.”

“You have already lost me,” murmured Loki. “Am I to be grateful for house arrest? The imprisonment is merely a formality, Thor. This – This – _This_ _punishment_ of Odin is too cruel for words . . . I fear I shall never leave these rooms again, but who shall miss the Jotun consort whose mere existence is such a burden? I will not let them see me like this . . .”

“If you isolate yourself, this depression will only worsen.”

“I cannot endure their stares, their taunts . . . _their insinuations_. . . if there is one thing, I am grateful the Allfather chose to wait until we reached our rooms to transform me back into my original form. I can already hear the words of the guards . . . _‘an exotic bride for a royal prince’, ‘just as ergi as the rest of his race’, ‘I have never tried a Jotun’._ ”

The last sentence struck hard at Thor. He winced to think of youthful conversations with friends, often in taverns when heavily intoxicated, where they would compare conquests and question what other races would be like to bed . . . whether genitalia was compatible, whether to take a Jotun would teach them their place, whether their skin would warm in the heat of passion . . . Thor struggled to keep down the contents of his stomach. It burned.

Thor reached out a trembling hand to Loki’s shoulder. He squeezed at the muscle and slowly massaged the flesh with the pad of his thumb digging into the space just below a pronounced collarbone, while long fingers prodded at the knots on Loki’s back, and he half-smiled to see how Loki let out a low sigh and finally relaxed into the touch. It spoke of promise, as if things might one day return to better than before. Thor looked Loki over, pupils widening on sight of the Jotun form, but asked in a quiet voice so as not to spook Loki:

“Can you not cast the illusion of an Asgardian form?”

“I would still be a Jotun beneath,” said Loki.

The smile fell from Thor’s face, as he leaned closer to press his forehead to Loki. They stayed locked together for a long few seconds, until Thor let out a low sigh and gently pulled Loki toward the bedroom, where Loki followed with obedient and slow steps. The bedroom was covered with scattered rose petals. Thor winced and swept them aside, as he apologised on behalf of the servants . . . _‘they were told you were kept away for your health, but not the details behind your move’_. . . the petals soon fell fast onto the floor in a messy pile.

He guided Loki onto the bed. Loki lay down on top of the furs with hands clasped over his stomach, while he stared aimlessly at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes, and he made no sign of movement even as Thor crawled beneath the furs to his side. Thor pulled them to his chin, as he sought to fight away the cold from the balconies of the lounge. He could not quite see his breath, but he could feel the air sting at the back of his throat, as he asked Loki:

“Are you warm?”

“A little more than I expected,” confessed Loki. “The direct sunlight was most uncomfortable, as if I was sweating from the inside as well as out, but otherwise I merely feel sticky and humid and desire an extremely cold bath to chill my flesh. I also have a far greater craving for water and ice, while your touch is like fire to my skin . . . albeit a _good_ fire.”

“We will have to split the bed,” said Thor. “I cannot sleep with this cold breeze, but the furs and blankets would be torture to you in this form. Do we still have the furs from our childhood? They only covered half the bed, which would still allow us to lie together.”

“You still wish to lie beside one that looks like me?”

“Of course, I do,” swore Thor.

Loki scoffed, as he turned his head. He ran red eyes over Thor’s frame, before he stopped short of the obvious tent at his crotch, and Thor – furrowing his brow before following his gaze – flushed a bright red and sat upright in an instant. Loki laughed as Thor brought his legs to his chest, while muttering incessant excuses and apologises, and Loki simply arched his back with a seductive and exaggerated moan, as his naked frame was prominently displayed. Thor groaned as his length grew ever harder and his embarrassment increased.

“I see some things never change,” chastised Thor.

He grabbed at a stray cushion and struck Loki, who burst into loud laughter and tossed the cushion back at Thor, who slid back down onto the bed with a lazy smile, and – turning onto their sides – they faced one another and looked eye-to-eye, until something serious stole away Loki’s jovial mood. Those eyes darkened and watered, while plump lips trembled, and Thor could only reach out to toy with his hair, as Loki choked out in a quiet voice:

“I cannot forgive him, Thor.”

“Forgive who?”

“Father,” said Loki. “I would not have bargained away our child. If you were not a part of my life, it is very likely that I would have made such a decision, but . . . I could not bear to act in a manner that would cause you such harm. Do you know that I did not _intend_ to kill you that day on Midgard? You think I sent the Destroyer to eliminate you, but I did not . . .”

“I do not understand what you mean, Loki.”

“If I had meant to harm you, I could easily have disintegrated you as the Destroyer did to those Jotun in the Treasury. Instead, I struck you in an attempt to silence you. There has not been once in our lives that I have ever sort to deliver you _permanent_ damage, even if it _was_ rather good fun to watch you smash out of that glass cell on the helicarrier.”

“That was less fun for me,” muttered Thor.

“Perhaps so,” laughed Loki. “Still, I do not think I could ever have made a choice that would cause you such emotional devastation . . . at least if it were not in your benefit. It would have deprived you of the love of a child, as well as forced lies onto our child that you sought to avoid, and yet even if this choice was one I would have made -? _I was not the one to make it._

“He _stole_ that choice away from me! Mother is correct . . . I will spend the rest of my days doubting myself, always wondering whether I would have chosen differently, and I shall never know for certain due to being forced into the palace to bear your spare. It is why I am so furious with you in turn, as you refused to give me so much as a second to make a choice or tell you what I would have chosen, but instead . . . you stole that away from me.”

Loki fell silent, but the accusation lay heavy between them. He rolled away from Thor onto his back, exposing the ridged patterns on his back and the plump curve to his buttocks, and Thor could only slide closer to wrap his arms around him. The furs lay half-on and half-off his form, as he strove to keep them off blue flesh, but they remained enough on him to protect him from the harsh climate that night. Thor toyed with the skin around Loki’s stomach, while half-hoping to feel a kick that never came. He pressed a kiss to that cool neck.

A loud caw echoed from the balcony. Thor did not need to climb from bed to know two familiar birds would be perched on the banister, if they were already not inside the lounge in supposed search of snacks, and elsewhere a loud burst of laughter echoed forth from the gardens, where Thor was half-certain he caught the sound of Fandral’s jokes half-entangled with Sif’s feigned interest and sincere desire. The world moved on around them.

It was difficult to process Loki’s words, when a mixture of arousal and relief coursed through him . . . arousal at a beautiful form, relief at finally having his husband in his arms . . . he surreptitiously slid the edge of the furs between them, as he sought to provide an extra barrier between their lower halves, and slid his behind further from Loki. He held tighter around that slim waist, however, as he continued to place kisses to the long column of neck. Loki simply stared ahead, eyes heavy and half-focussed, while Thor admitted in a broken voice:

“I was wrong not to communicate with you.”

“You were angry,” muttered Loki.

“It is no excuse.” Thor stroked at Loki’s hair. “We know we must be more open with one another, but you lied to me about this deal and your pregnancy, while I . . . I refused to give you a chance to explain and let my anger control me. I know you may never forgive Father or me for taking this choice from you, but do you understand why we acted as we did?”

“I have a feeling you will tell me anyway, Thor.”

“This is _not_ a joking matter, Loki! You were going to take our _child_ away from me. I cannot envision a life without you, to the extent that your attempted suicide nearly destroyed me, and – yes – I visited the healers daily without your knowledge, just so I would be able to cope with that sight ever etched into my mind. Loki, as much as I love you -? I love Thrúd more. I love our child more. You – well – you _may_ come third on my list of loves.”

Thor winced with a nervous smile. He struggled to hide the fast race of his heart, as he continued to run his fingers through black locks, and yet – even as he feared the worst – Loki simply rolled his eyes and turned his head to deliver an amused smirk to Thor. It was not what Thor expected, as he half-envisioned either tears or snarls, and his open-mouthed wonder translated to laughter on Loki’s part, as he rolled around to face him and draped cold arms around a warm neck. Loki rested his head on Thor’s chest, as he promised:

“I am not offended, Thor.”

“You are not?”

“No,” said Loki. “After all, Mother loves us more than life itself. I know she would die for us, just as she would kill for us, and many a time she has gone against Father’s wishes to protect us, even if you _are_ her second-favourite and I top you easily on that list.”

Thor shouted out an offended ‘hey’, while Loki burst out into loud laughter. The shakes to his body provided a small comfort, until Thor laughed in turn and shook his head with pursed lips, and – for a brief second – it was as if nothing were amiss. He lightly slapped Loki’s buttocks, only to blush when Loki feigned a loud gasp and asked him to ‘spank’ him again, and soon Loki laughed until tears fell over his cheeks and he could barely breathe, while Thor held him close and simply basked in the moment. He decided to tease in turn.

“You may top me in other areas, too,” said Thor.

“This is not a joking matter, remember?”

“Aye, aye,” laughed Thor. “Loki, what I mean to say is that the idea of losing our child is unbearable, but the idea of losing _both_ of you when I have already faced the fear of losing you so often in these past few years -? No. It would destroy me. It is a pain beyond anything I can describe, enough that it overrode all reason and emotion consumed me.”

“Thor, I know well that you love me, but I am a _Jotun_ now.” Loki winced and shrugged. “You are aware that Jane Foster is dying as we speak? In a matter of months, weeks . . . _days . . ._ Thrúd will be in your care full time, and if our child has my form -?”

“I will love them just as much,” swore Thor. “I will not deny that our parents made us feel as if they had favourites, that you learnt to fight from Mother and I from Father, just as she taught you her _seiðr_ and he taught me mine, but can we not learn from their mistakes? They loved us just the same, even if they did not show that well. We shall learn.

“In the meantime, let me pledge my undying love for you. I will not leave these rooms, not even for the battles that rage across the Nine Realms, and I will never allow you to feel alone for so much as a single second. You are my first and only priority, Loki. If you require privacy to speak to the healers, I shall provide that, but I must stress that – even if you believe yourself to be alone in this form – you will _never_ be alone. I am here for you.”

Loki said nothing, but simply raised his head to lock eyes. It was difficult to read his expression, as tears and laughter lines mingled into something indescribable, but Loki soon softened his expression for a rare moment of sincerity, as he lowered with gaze and closed his eyes with a rare smile. Thor continued to run his hands through soft hair, while he hummed an old tune and gave Loki a moment to compose his thoughts, and together they simply listened to the sounds from outside and what sounded like a heated interlude in the gardens.

“Thank you,” whispered Loki.

The noises outside continued, until Loki closed the balcony doors. It took a mere flick of his hand to cast them in darkness, while the cold breeze finally stopped, and Thor was able to shirk the furs just enough to reveal a few slithers of skin. Thor let a hand slide down Loki’s side, until he reached that familiar bump with a small smile. He traced fingers over the exposed belly button, as a bright smile fell over his lips, before he pressed he palm flat against the flesh and closed his eyes as he lost himself in thought. Thor whispered:

“I cannot believe I shall be a father again.”

“You hardly have experience with the one you have,” said Loki. “Do you _really_ think you’re in a position to mourn the difficulties of parenthood? I know you are an amazing father, but most of Thrúd’s days have been spent with Sif or myself, and many of her nights have been spent with our parents. Your fears may be legitimate, but so are mine.”

“You fear I will not be as present as I should?” Thor nodded with a frown. “If you choose to be a father to our child, we must talk about how we wish to parent. We should begin with the division of duties, which includes what we expect from one another.”

“What about what we expect from one another as _spouses_?”

Thor froze with hand over firm stomach. He locked eyes with Loki, who raised his eyebrows and lowered his head, and – with intent clear – Thor pulled his hand away with a flush to his cheeks. He rolled onto his back and buried the base of his palms into his eyes with a loud sigh of frustration. Loki huffed in response and rolled onto his back in turn, although he lifted the furs higher on Thor to cover his chest and keep him warm. It was a kind gesture, but it did very little to help the awkwardness of the inevitable conversation to follow. Thor muttered:

“You mean to discuss our sexual life?”

“Thor, we made love _twice_ since our mutual trauma,” whispered Loki. “You still have a clear interest in sexual acts, but this form _hardly_ lends to an amorous mood. I also struggle to overcome those memories of penetration each time we are intimate. What if I never feel comfortable taking you or being taken? We have been sexual since our adolescence. I _know_ you have a high sexual desire that is difficult to sate at the best of times.”

“The trauma is not yours alone.” Thor scratched at his beard. “I have found it difficult to maintain arousal in turn, while I have been too hyper-aware of your reactions when we have made love to truly enjoy the act, but I think these things take time. We can take time emotionally to build trust, while you find comfort in your new form, and if we cannot –”

“Would you truly want an abstinent partner?”

“No, Loki,” said Thor with a smile. “I only want _you_ as a partner, abstinent or not. Let us think about our immediate problems before all else, yes? We must discuss whether you wish to be a parent to our child, just as how we are to raise this child, and I think you must learn to be comfortable as a Jotun before you can trust that I am comfortable with you as a Jotun.”

“I will admit that I have heard no more painful words than: ‘you are beautiful’. It feels too much a lie from one that swore never to lie to me, and I _see_ myself in the mirror . . . blue skin, ridged lines, red eyes . . . I am nothing like those in our realm. I am too unlike the man you fell in love with, Thor. Do you not also remember what I have done? I now have a form to match the monster you all believed me to me, having killed so many . . .”

Thor sat upright with a low growl. He swung a leg over Loki and sat astride him, a position that almost mimicked those during their sexual encounters, but – as Loki made to joke – he reached down to press a finger to his lips and silenced any comments. Thor drew in a deep breath and looked over Loki, whose trembling lip betrayed his anxiety, and gently drew his hand away to trace his fingers down the firm chest until it stopped at his stomach. Loki said nothing, but he stared hard with furrowed brow at Thor as Thor asked:

“Did Mother tell you not to assume our thoughts?”

Loki rolled his eyes and sat upright, where he wrapped arms around Thor’s waist and buried his face into the crook of his neck, and together they sat thoroughly entangled on the bed, where a few candles on the far dressing table sent low shadows about the room. It was difficult to remain comfortable with Loki so cold against him and the room so chilled, but Thor said nothing and squeezed Loki as much as he dared with his condition. The seconds passed into minutes, until Loki found his voice with a shuddered sigh.

“You do not think me a monster,” said Loki.

“At least you know this rationally.” Thor smiled. “If you know this in your mind, your heart will soon follow with time and support. Loki, I need you to know . . . a man may do monstrous things, but that does not make him a monster. You have already shown great growth by acknowledging the Jotuns as people, just as you are showing growth now by allowing the healers to clear your mind and help you think. You will grow and evolve.”

“And what if I do not?” Loki asked. “You know as well as I that change comes difficult to me, especially when we have a Jotun child on the way to test my patience and exacerbate my fears, and I cannot even stand to look myself in the mirror! Each time I do, I grow lost in time as I look upon the face of a stranger. What if I cannot be the man you believe I can become?”

“Just talk to me whenever you need me, Husband. You are already all I need you to be, so if you can be even greater than that -? That is a surprise better than expected, but I would lack nothing even if you stayed as you are now. I am proud of the changes you have made.”

“Thor, this will not be easy on you, either. They will talk about you and how you are wed to a Jotun . . . they will ask inappropriate questions about our personal life, they will insult me without a second thought to your presence, and you will always know that they think less of you in turn for sleeping with the enemy. I will have done that to you. I will cause your pain.”

Thor pulled back just enough to clasp Loki’s cheeks. The ridges were strange under his touch, like the hard lines of bark or certain scales, but they were a comforting reminder of Loki’s presence and that he was comfortable not to cast an illusion before him. Thor had no doubt that Loki would cast the illusion of an Asgardian form before the servants, perhaps even before his mother, and it would likely be weeks or months before he dared to leave their rooms, as he sought to grow comfortable in his new skin. Thor kissed his lips.

“You are only responsible for _your_ actions,” said Thor.

Loki rapidly blinked. He gazed Thor up and down, but soon pulled away with a shake of his head, until he gently pushed Thor back and struggled to extricate himself from where they say, and – as Thor slid onto his half of the bed – he could only watch as Loki climbed to his feet and wandered over to the open doorway between bedroom and lounge. The red eyes were difficult to see in the dark, but Thor knew he stared at the full-length mirror.

“I wish to be left alone, Thor.”

A cold silence descended on them, as Thor ran a hand over his face. He stood and marched into the _en suite_ , where he ran the cold water to the baths and let the indoor waterfall pour forth onto the tiles below, and walked back to take Loki by the waist and guided him into the bathroom where he gently sat him on a nearby stool. Thor opened the shutters on the windows, letting in cold air and watching as it rustled at Loki’s hair, before he tested the waters and jerked back his hand with a wince of pain. He blew warm air onto his hand.

“You must eat and bathe,” said Thor.

“I will, Thor. I will.” Loki let out a long sigh. “You will not leave me? I desire silence and space, but the idea of you leaving me . . . it hurts me more than I can express. It is difficult to be open to you as things stand, but in this form every word feels like it could well be our last, as I fail to see how you stand to be in my presence. Do not leave me?”

“I swore to you I would remain by your side. I meant that, Loki.” Thor licked at his lips and scratched at his neck. “Why do we not eat together? Even if we are to eat in silence, you would know that I am still by your side and will remain at your side.”

“I require far more protein, salt and ice as a Jotun, Thor.”

“It could be fun to try new cuisine.”

Loki smiled and stood with a stretch of his arms. He walked over to the baths and walked down the steps into the filling waters, where he stretched out his hands and let them grace over the surface with a gasp of contentment. Thor blushed to see how blue skin darkened and how Loki dipped down into the waters, only to pull up with wet hair slick against his bare flesh, and Thor made a note to give Loki a few minutes alone. It would take time to order food from the servants, while Loki likely needed to evacuate his bowels. Loki called out:

“Thank you, Husband.”

Thor flushed ever redder, as Loki turned soaked in Jotun form. The droplets ran down his body, as the waters rose now just enough to half-cover his privates, and he glistened in the moonlight until every inch of him came alive in the little light provided. Thor struggled to hold back his desire, even as he caught Loki’s eyes turning to parts of him with an amused smile, and quickly headed towards the doors as he called back with embarrassment:

“I’ll send for the food.”


	23. Chapter 23

Jane lay helpless.

The bed appeared to swallow her whole, as she lay prone and weak on the white sheets, and that whiteness – so pure and so clean – only further drained her flesh to the point her cheeks became sallow and sunken by the sickness that claimed her skin. A packet of liquid hung from a metal frame beside the bed, which dripped slowly through a plastic tube into her vein, where a large bruise marked the thin flesh with bright blues and purples.

Thor sat carefully on a wooden chair beside the bed. He reached out with a trembling hand for her arm, where he let fingers hover a few inches just above skin so thin that every vein was visible like a map of a life once lived, and it took a murmured ‘it’s okay’ for him to lower his hand and feel the coldness of her flesh. Jane turned her head, until her bandana slipped and revealed the smoothness to her skull. There were large black bags underneath her eyes, which were bloodshot and yellowed, and her lips were dried and chapped.

It was surprising how warm the bedroom seemed, despite the stench of bleach and disinfectants, and it was helped by the sounds of laughter just beyond the door, as Donald played with Thrúd and Michael. The soft sound of classical music played through a stereo in the corner of the bedroom, while hundreds of cards and posters littered the walls, and huge framed photographs hung just in Jane’s eyesight of her family in recent months.

“You can go home, you know,” said Jane.

Thor turned toward the window. It sat above the head of the bed, where the closed panes of glass magnified the sunlight to warm the bed and comfort her soul, and he smiled to see dozens of flower petals falling from the tree just outside. The rain of pink petals must have soothed Jane in weaker moments, especially when combined with Michael’s old baby blanket and Thrúd’s stuffed snake just beside her, and her other hand held tight to them.

The planned visit was intended only to be for the day, but – seeing Jane so weak – Thor struggled to leave her bedside and mutter his goodbyes. He noticed that the room lacked a clock, just as it lacked a calendar or any sort of time-keeping device, and he wondered whether Jane sought to desperately hold on to what time remained, even if it meant hiding from its inevitable development around her . . . a woman on the brink of death in a world so full of life. Thor brushed at her brow, as she squeezed his hand and croaked out:

“I’ll be okay, I promise.”

“I promised that I would be an active part of Thrúd’s life,” whispered Thor. “I knew that would include awkward talks with Donald, and I knew it would include saying ‘goodbye’ to my daughter more often that I could bear, but what I did not realise was that I would be saying goodbye to _you_. You are my friend. You are the mother of my daughter. You are –”

“I’m Jane Foster.” Jane smiled with a broken quirk of her lips. “I’m one of the world’s leading astrophysicists. I’ve a great position in S.H.I.E.L.D. I’ve a husband that loves me. I’ve a daughter that makes me cry with happiness. I’m . . . I’m _lucky_ , Thor.”

“This does not feel like good fortune,” choked Thor.

“No, but it could be a lot worse, couldn’t it? I got to see worlds that _no one_ else alive would ever see, and I got to be a part of Thrúd’s life long enough to have her laughter etched into my memory, so as far as I’m concerned -? Life is good. Just . . . don’t let her forget me? I appreciate you coming to visit so often, but one day . . . one day you won’t be back . . .”

A tear ran down Thor’s cheek. Jane gave a trembling smile, as her bony fingers struggled to find strength to brush away the tear with a gentle touch, and – clasped her hand between his – he let loose a shuddered breath and pressed a chaste kiss to her skin. A stream of broken laughter escaped his lips, but it did nothing to hide how he silently wept and prayed that Thrúd would have just a little longer with her mother . . . long enough to love, long enough to remember . . . Thor squeezed closed his eyes and strove to lighten the mood with:

“Loki has reached his three-month mark.”

Jane sniffed and rubbed at her eyes, as she forced a brave smile. Thor rapidly blinked and continued to hold onto her hand, even as her strength left her and the limb fell slack, and he lowered it gently to the sheets and carefully covered the limb with the blanket. He fumbled with his pocket to pull out a flat circular device, which – with a press of a button – projected a holographic image of Loki in his Jotun form with swollen stomach.

It was a beautiful image. Jane reached out weakly, just enough to relish the warmth of the projected light on her hand and the way the picture distorted, until she turned it off at the switch and Thor slid it back into his pocket. He watched how her eyes closed, as if drifting into a deep sleep, but he knew that she was fighting back the pain from the sunlight and the strain that left her eyes unfocussed. Thor swallowed back his tears, as he squeezed once more on her hand with a staggered sigh. Jane drew in a raspy breath and asked him:

“That’s good, right?”

“We are exactly a half of the way into his pregnancy.” Thor smiled and tasted a bitter tear. “He loathes when I say ‘we’, but he is not here to chastise me. I worry about him, Jane. Do you know that he will still not leave our rooms? He makes great progress with the healers, while he has allowed Sif and Mother to visit him often, but he . . . he will not leave. Do not mistake me, for it is good to hear him laugh and jest, but I just wish –!”

“You wish he would live life instead of watching others live theirs?” Jane hummed and fluttered open her eyes. “I’d talk to him, if I could, but tell him from me . . . it doesn’t matter how beautiful or comfortable a cage may be, because it’s still just a cage. I’d give anything just to watch a film with a friend or visit a restaurant with Donald . . . I miss living.”

“You are not dead yet, Jane,” wept Thor.

“No, but I will be soon,” whispered Jane. “I know you swore that Thrúd could have regular visits to Earth, so she could still have a relationship with Donald and Michael, but we need to have more solid plans for how Thrúd will be raised. You and Loki and going to have a son soon, Thor, and I need to know how you plan for Thrúd to fit into that life.”

“Loki adores Thrúd, although he denies it,” murmured Thor. “He makes arrangements while I am busy on other worlds or in political meetings, so that he can watch her in my stead or to give a break to our parents, and she has grown most attached to him. I have found her toys in our rooms all too often, even as he publicly refuses to acknowledge her and pretends that he has no contact with her, and she has even taken to calling me ‘oaf’.”

Thor laughed, even as he sniffed and rubbed at his nose. He let his eyes fall on Jane . . . he lost so many people, but all were all in the heat of battle and expected losses, and this was his first time witnessing someone so loved slowly decay before him . . . tears blurred his vision and stung at his eyes, as his smile trembled and fell dead on his lips. Thor ran a hand through his hair and licked at his lips in a distracted manner, while he let out a staggered breath and feigned a sincere smile. Jane rested against the plump pillows with a low hum, as she asked:

“Why does he deny her?”

The question hung heavy in the air. Thor brushed his fingers over her hand, as he remembered her so filled with life and passion and energy, and he drew his fingertips over each and every prominent vein with a lump forming hard in his throat. He caught a faint scent of her perfume, but noticed a lavender scent that seemed like it may have been chosen by a loved one and not by Jane, and he wondered how many friends and family had visited her in this London apartment in terror each ‘goodbye’ may be their last.

“I think he is afraid,” admitted Thor.

“I did get the impression from him that he wasn’t ready for fatherhood.” Jane let loose a long sigh. “What is it that scares him, though? Is it that he won’t be a good father, or that she won’t like him, or that he might lose her? I know I was _terrified_ when I was pregnant with Thrúd, just in case I did something wrong, and then when she was born -? Any time she murmured or sighed or yawned, I’d jump to my feet and run to her side . . . just in case.”

“It is difficult to say, but I believe he fears abandonment. He fears that our son will hate him for passing on his Jotun genes, but he fears that he will somehow do wrong by Thrúd or that – as he is only her stepfather – we could somehow conspire to taker her from him, which would break his heart should he form an emotional bond. He is doing better with time, however.”

“Will he be okay to raise your son by her side? I want her to have a _family_. I want her to be _equal_ to everyone else and not feel better or worse than them. Is this something that he will process with time, or are these fears that’ll always stay with him?”

“Truthfully, I fear he will love Thrúd more than our son.”

Thor briefly let go of her hand. He pushed both hands through his hair, before he threw himself from the wooden chair and stood to crick his neck, and soon busied himself by walking about the bedroom to gaze at the various items left scattered over every surface. The tables in particular were littered with small boxes that were labelled ‘morning’, ‘noon’, and ‘night’; dozens of small boxes and loose medicines rolled across the shiny surfaces, while bottles dripped odd liquids down their sides, and used tissues flooded one side of the bed.

It brought back brief memories of his mother during a bad flu one year, only there was a distinct lack of medicines and only the odd healing stone, and their father had muttered grumpily every night as Loki and Thor cuddled up beside her, forcing Odin to sleep on the ottoman at the base of the bed. Thor paused before a strange picture coloured by Thrúd, where he saw Donald and Loki badly drawn on either side of Jane and Thor. Jane whispered:

“Why would he love Thrúd more?”

Thor looked back to her, only to see chest struggling with every breath. It was difficult to watch how her ribcage shuddered and hear how her breaths came out in long wheezes, especially as he heard Thrúd laugh loud in the other room and call out ‘Don’ at her stepfather, and he could only fist his hands at his side and screw shut his eyes. He took in a long breath, before he forced a smile and returned to Jane’s side, as he struggled to recall the question as he took her hand in his and pressed a chaste kiss to the clammy skin.

“Thrúd looks Asgardian,” said Thor.

“Is _that_ all this is about?”

“No.” Thor bit at his lip until he tasted iron. “I think he has grown a great deal in these past few weeks, to the extent that he is now comfortable around me and has learnt to express his emotions without fear of rejection, but he still loathes his reflection and will sometimes go into trances at the mere sight. I think he fears our son will remind him of himself, and that he cannot love someone so like him, as he is everything that he hates, but Thrúd -?

“Thrúd is his polar opposite. Not only that, but she has not brought suffering upon him. He has been forced to endure the _ergi_ stigma and receive from me in what can only be called a mutual rape, and he is rightfully terrified of birth and how this may permanently alter his body, as if I will somehow be unable to love him with stretch-marks or extra weight.

“He knows there is no blood between him and Thrúd, but equally knows that our mother considers him to be her favourite, and I think he feels closer to her by being close to Thrúd, as he shares in the same relationship and feels as she feels, but that also brings fear in him that he may play favourites in turn. Our parents loved us equally, but liked us unequally, and this nearly destroyed us both in very different ways. He fears repeating that mistake.”

Jane struggled to keep her eyes open, as she turned her head on the pillow, and her unfocussed eyes ran over Thor as if seeking to memorise him for the last time, even as she squeezed at his hand and drew in raspy breaths of warm air. He knew that her time was limited to weeks at most, perhaps days at the least, and yet to stay too long with her would be to distract from limited time with her family, which only brought a further stab of grief. It was necessary to walk away from her, even as he knew he may never see her again.

“That’s – That’s pretty intense,” said Jane.

“These are issues that can be helped with time,” replied Thor. “I just feel time is the one thing on which we are running short! You – You will not be with us for long, while Loki is due to birth our child in only three months time, and sometimes I fear . . . I sometimes fear that this punishment of our father’s pales in comparison to being expected to birth a child.”

Jane knitted together her eyebrows and pursed at her lips. Thor shook his head with a muttered apology, embarrassed by unloading his problems on one who suffered so much, but she simply pulled his hand closer with a smile, before delivering a light slap to his cheek in mock chastisement. The touch barely connected, yet he feigned shock and pain to gain laughter from her, but her laughter soon turned into a coughing fit . . . she stopped only to raise a hand to signal she was fine, as she whispered for him to continue. Thor muttered:

“I did express my fears to my father.”

“What fears?” Jane asked.

“I feared the undue stress on Loki might affect our baby,” admitted Thor. “I feared that the Jotun form might cause Loki to disassociate too much, thus damaging his psyche more than the repairs could hold. Still, he insisted that it was the only punishment that would be effective . . . in some respects, he is correct. Loki would be too unfazed by any other punishment for it to stick, which would not teach him a lesson or deter him in future, and . . .

“Yes, it ensures he stays under his house arrest, but he now will not leave our rooms! This is too much for him to endure at once, Jane. My father refuses to accept that Loki suffers, as Loki laughs in his face or hides from his sight, and Loki refuses to tell our father how he feels, as he assumes Father’s motives and dismisses his words as mere lies. What can I do?”

“Don’t let Thrúd inherit their stubbornness, for a start,” teased Jane.

Thor laughed until tears ran down his cheeks. He saw Jane struggle to hold back laughter in turn, until she clutched at her stomach and whispered ‘don’t make me laugh’, and soon both were weeping through their smiles as they held hands on the new mattress. Thor slid onto the side of the bed, which barely dipped with the firmness of the mattress, and he marvelled at how a press of a button raised Jane into an upright position. He reached out to brush a finger over her sunken cheek, before he pulled back with a sad sigh and shrug.

“Trust me when I say that I will get them to talk,” said Thor. “I am seeking to convince Loki to leave our rooms to talk with our father, while our mother is attempting to get our father to be more open about his love and not act with such stoicism. I think it will help.”

“And you think Loki will improve with that?”

“He has already improved more than I can express.” Thor wiped away a tear. “I forgot how it sounded to hear him laugh until he cried, or how frustrating it could be when he cheated in games of chance, or how thrilling it could be to talk until we fell asleep just mere minutes before sunrise. Still, he refuses to let me touch him, refuses to leave our rooms . . .

“Do not worry, Jane. He has spoken at great length with the healers and our mother, and the fact he has allowed Sif to see him in his current state -? I think he is growing to accept his appearance, enough that I have recently spotted him standing upon the balcony, and I believe it is a situation that shall improve as he realises how much we accept him with unconditional love and support. I just fear the birth may set him further back.”

“I won’t lie to you, Thor,” said Jane. “The birth will be _hard_. It comes with a slew of hormones and pain and bodily changes, so that he’s going to be all over the place and pretty overwhelmed, and . . . well . . . people make you believe that it’s instinctual to love your child, but it isn’t, and sometimes you struggle with that and feel like you’re this – this –”

“Monster?” Thor winced. “He already believes that loving our son should be automatic and instinctual, but I do think talking with Sif has helped him as he now understands that such love can take time and does not mean he will not ever endure difficulties.”

“Just be there for him, but be prepared for things to get harder.”

A loud laugh echoed about the room. Thor turned his head as he heard fast footsteps pound their way to the door, while a giggling voice of a child echoed just beyond, and – as the door-handle rattled – more footsteps could be heard pounding along, but this time those of an adult as someone quickly chanted ‘no, no, no’ and the rattling stopped. Jane laughed and shook her head, while Thrúd continued to laugh and mumble endlessly strange comments that only a mother could understand. Thor let out a sigh and turned to ask Jane:

“What else can I do for you, my friend?”

Jane hummed long and low in her throat, while her other hand toyed with the baby blanket, and – struggling to bring it to her face – Thor helped her to lift it so that she could breathe deep the ‘baby smell’ and hold the fabric close for comfort. The pyjamas she wore were familiar, enough he was saw she wore them in well health, but they hung from her skeletal frame as if they were designed for one far large in stature. He frowned.

A loud breeze picked up from outside. It brought the flower petals against the windowsill, where they piled up in small pink mountains, while a strange tune echoed out from a van and he heard children pile onto the streets. Life went on around them, while Thor could only reach for the pitcher of water on the bedside table and refill Jane’s glass with a low gaze, as he sought to avoid her eye for fear tears may come once more. Jane continued to struggle with her breathing, as her head lolled from side to side and she murmured:

“Just let me spend what little time I have left with my children.”

“As if I could ever tear you apart,” sobbed Thor.

“Do you know the Avengers want to reunite with you?” Jane smiled. “I think they have a party planned for everyone to catch up and celebrate your victory in New York, so I said I’d pass on the message, but you know what -? I’m kind of jealous. It would be great to watch Darcy and Eric try to drink Captain America under the table.”

Jane laughed while Thor dropped a straw into the glass. The laughter was so rich and sincere, so like the few days so long ago that he spent in her presence, and he remembered how he would stroke at hair that looked so black in the dark, while she giggled in such a familiar manner, much as Loki would do when alone with Thor and ready to engage in some heavier petting during their youth. He remembered the passion. He remembered the jokes. He wanted those to be his last memories of Jane, rather than the patient that waited for death.

He watched as she choked and coughed, as laughter soon stopped, and specks of blood appeared on her clenched fist until he jerked the glass in fear, spilling its contents over the sides with a small gasp, and he quickly brought the glass to her mouth and aimed the straw for her lips. Jane sipped enough to wet her mouth, while she panted for breath and chuckled at her own weakness . . . no shame, no frustrations . . . Jane looked to him and confessed:

“I don’t want to leave her, Thor.”

The words broke something inside. Thor saw her vulnerability and fear, as tears built behind her eyes and she strove to be strong for his sake, and yet he knew that he could not have endured such terror in her place . . . Thrúd meant too much to him . . . Thor silently wept, as he slammed the glass on the side-table and wrapped his arms around that thin frame, and he held as tight as he dared while Jane finally broke. The wracked sobs that emitted from her tore her body and shook her entire frame, as Thor stroked at her head and choked out:

“I know, Jane. I know.”

 


	24. Chapter 24

“Loki? I looked everywhere for you.”

Thor smiled down at Loki. The sun above was bright and strong, catching at the leather covers of piles on piles of books, and Thor feared staring too hard, as the reflection of light in places would burn into his retinas and leave small after-images. Loki stretched out underneath a large tree centre of the garden, where – just above his head on the bark –an ancient scar in the shape of ‘O + F’ was visible, as if someone had carved out their marks over time and left an imprint so future generations would always remember their presence.

Loki crossed his legs at the ankles, dressed in casual and loose fabric. The swell to his stomach was prominent enough to force him to shun his previous leathers, unable to endure the tight bands and increased heat, but the looseness to his attire allowed him to showcase his physique while downplaying the growing unborn child. Thor winced only to see that he bore the illusion of his Asgardian form, down to the rosiness of his cheeks from the sun.

“I did not expect to find you here,” whispered Thor.

A faint aroma from the kitchens drifted through the gardens. It merged with the scent of Loki’s cologne and the pollen from the flowers, even as it brought stark and dark memories of Jane broken and vulnerable on her bed, and he drew in a deep breath at the thought that this ‘goodbye’ may well have been their last. Thor moved to sit opposite Loki. A stone bench stood tall and proud just a few feet away, still carved with familiar and intricate patterns.

Thor ran a hand through long locks of hair, as he cricked his neck and forced a smile. He lifted his head high to look at the clouds above, where he could almost fool himself into seeing Earth in the far distance, and – as the sun caused white spots to appear on his vision – he blinked back tears at the thought of Thrúd soon without a mother. Thor let out a staggered breath, as he braced his forearms on his knees and locked eyes with Loki, only for green eyes to look back with a tension that indicated some form of anger. Loki sad in a cold voice:

“Father allowed me entry into the gardens.”

“In Asgardian form?”

“No, I am still _technically_ in Jotun form,” muttered Loki. “It is difficult to maintain this illusion for long, although I have managed several hours when around Thrúd, but I am not so deluded as to believe I could feign this guise for longer than three to five hours at most. I know there will come a time when someone marries or some political emergency occurs, and I shall be required to spend many hours in the presence of others, but until that day . . .”

“If this illusion provides you a small comfort, I shall support that choice,” swore Thor. “I will beg you once more, however, to reveal your true form before Thrúd. You have allowed Mother and Sif to see you as a Jotun, Loki. Do you really think it would be much different for Thrúd to see you in your natural state? I wish for her to see the human side to the Jotuns.”

“Yes, and _I_ wish for my step-daughter not to recoil in horror at the sight of me! No, I will not even acknowledge such a request. I have not even allowed Father to see me in my true form, as such what makes you think I would show an innocent child? Shame on you!”

“So you finally spoke with Father? How did that discussion go?”

“Brief,” said Loki. “A few sentences exchanged at most.”

Loki slammed shut the book on his lap. The title indicated a selection of children’s stories; the writing was Jotun in nature, and Thor knitted his brow in consideration of when Loki learnt Jotun, as he appeared to shun any electives regarding language – such as Groot – at the Academy. Loki rested his hands over the leather and let out a long hiss of breath, as his nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed, but he said nothing as he let his eyes look Thor over with slow and deliberate movements. It took another sigh before he continued.

“Mother said I was required to leave my rooms,” said Loki. “I attended – as requested – a meeting with our parents, where Odin asked me how I coped and where I told him that all was well, and he revealed that he thought fresh air would be good for me. He loosened the restrictions on my house arrest . . . it was an olive branch. I have access to the gardens.”

“That is good news, is it not? He seeks to do well by you.”

“It was clear that Mother engineered the meeting. I know that she dragged him to the hall, just as you would drag me to the hall had I not agreed, and she seeks to reconcile us with a heart-to-heart discussion, as if that will heal all our grievances.”

Loki caught Thor’s gaze toward his lap. He raised an eyebrow with another long hiss of breath, before he lifted the book and jerked his hand toward Thor, and – struggling to bend forward with his stomach blocking his way – Thor reached down and took the book from his hands with a warm smile. The leather was cool to the touch where it had rested in Loki’s fingers, although warm from the sun in all other areas, but the title was clear: _‘Bedtime Tales for the Young Jotun’_. Thor smiled and flipped open the book, as Loki murmured:

“I dislike their constant attention.”

It a strange non-sequitur, but Thor paid it a brief mind. He grew distracted as he opened the book only to see inked notes in the margin, where Loki queried the verb-noun-subject order of sentences or criticised the messages of any given story, and Thor held back a laugh to see how amateurish Loki appeared when his intelligence was otherwise so great. Thor closed the book, afraid any reaction would be seen as mockery, and changed topic with the question:

“Who do you mean, Loki?”

“The healers,” said Loki. “I also dislike Mother and Sif at times, as all of them insist on me continuing this course of medicine, and – even as Helblindi insists it is safe to consume – I would rather not allow any drugs to potentially interfere with the foetus. I am also unsure there is much left to talk about, but all they do is talk and talk and talk . . .”

“I believe that is why it is called a ‘talking therapy’,” teased Thor. “I will admit that you have made vast progress, enough that after every battle to stabilise the nine realms – after every visit to Jane, after every meeting with Father – coming back to our rooms feels like coming home after a long absence. You make me happy. I see you smile and laugh, and I am _happy_ to see that. So . . . I will ask that they give you some space to ease your mind.”

“I am no fool, Thor. I know I still need therapy to improve.” Loki ran a hand over his face. “I just ask that it not be _every_ day. I have come to accept my past mistakes, but now I need to come to terms with my current situation . . . I am to become a father, with my _brother_ of all people, but I fear that you pull away from me and into the arms of that woman.”

“That ‘woman’ is dying, Loki,” replied Thor.

“Aye, but she was not the one raped and forced to bear a child. I want a full and complete relationship with you, Thor, but I cannot even bear to have you touch me in this form! We need to find some way to move forward, as I do desire intimacy, but the memories are bad enough to endure alone and now I am to process this form alongside that horror?”

Loki attempted to climb to his feet. He made it halfway up before he fell back on his buttocks, and – muttering a loud curse – he glared to Thor with a curl of his lip, until he braced his hands on the tree and used it for leverage to pull into a standing position. Thor used every last ounce of self-control not to reach out for him, knowing that Loki would resent being helped when he still yearned for independence, but instead placed the book on the pile beside him, while he tried to maintain his smile despite his fear. Loki remained silent.

The humid and warm temperature broke a sweat over Loki, despite his Asgardian illusion and desperate desire to maintain a stoic facade, and Loki soon managed to stand with panted breath and eyes screwed shut. Thor swallowed back a lump forming in his throat, as he looked to Loki and tried to envision how he would look toward the end of the pregnancy . . . far larger, far slower, far more hormonal . . . he nearly laughed until Loki spoke.

“I need you _here_ , Thor,” spat Loki. “Not at her side!”

Thor turned pale. He swallowed back his pain, as he let out a broken laugh under his breath, and – fighting back images of Jane tied to machines and barely bones – he saw how Loki paced back and forth with hands pressed to the tight skin of his stomach. There were tears brimming in Loki’s eyes, barely held back as he kept his head low and his whole body shivered with every step, and yet Thor could only hear the racing of his heart pounding in his ears, while his lip quivered and head grew light. He fought for breath as he choked out:

“Loki, _please_ , I am not choosing Jane over –”

“Is she not your priority?” Tears ran down Loki’s cheeks. “You _swore_ to keep me company during this house-arrest and imprisonment in my current form, but instead you – you – you are by _her_ side and holding _her_ hand! What? Am I too much a Jotun for you to sexually desire, so you send your flirtations to the first available ex you can find?”

“Loki, I have flirted with you as much as I dare! I have made it no secret that I still desire you, and I will even admit that my desire has in fact increased! I still feel the effects from our trauma, as do you, but my aversion to sex is _not_ because of your form!”

“So – So where were you these past few days? Why linger at her side if you are not lying in her bed? That _whore_ is still human in appearance . . . you said you would be only a day, but you have been gone three days . . . _three_! That was all it took to impregnate her last time. Am I to play the part of ‘wife’ to your mistress, is that it? Am I merely your obligation?”

“Damn it, Loki! I know you are insecure and feel vulnerable, but this –”

“Do – Do you remember our first time? We were sixteen . . . we did not go all the way, but we went enough to know what we wanted . . . what we _needed_. You gave yourself to me after we married, a-and you wanted that from me as often as I could give it, but now – _now_ – you are content with _nothing_! Any time we broke up, you would soon find another, like that little bit on the side over on Midgard . . . that impossible slut that can’t close her legs, that –”

“ _She is on her deathbed, you fool_!”

Thor screamed until his throat bled. He threw his body forward, as he buried his hands deep into his hair, and clenched so tight that a sharp pain rang through his scalp, while he signalled to the guards with a shake of his head to keep their distance. A cold silence descended across the gardens; servants gossiped from the gardens, while a few noblemen came out to stand at their balconies, and guards muttered complaints from the sidelines. Loki swore and cast a quick illusion, so that Thor likely appeared strong . . . contented . . . _normal_.

Tears ran over his cheeks, until he tasted them at his lips. A cold wave washed over him, as if he were submerged into a deep ice bath, and he shivered with great wracks of his body, while he choked on the air and broken laughter escaped his mouth. Thor drew in a deep breath and sat upright as much as he were able, as he locked eyes with Loki and saw that Asgardian form slowly drop to make room for a Jotun form. Loki’s eyes shone with water.

“Jane will live days at the most,” whispered Thor.

Realisation finally dawned. Loki dropped a hand to his side, where it hung loose and limp, and he stood with mouth partly opened without a single word, as he blinked rapidly and looked away with blue cheeks darkening with apparent embarrassment. Thor continued to cry, even as he scratched at his running nose with a trembling smile, before he made to speak to Loki only to be silence by a raised hand and a long sigh. Loki walked toward him.

Thor said nothing, as Loki sat at his side with a hiss of breath. He watched through blurred eyes as Loki ran hands over his stomach, soothing some ache or other, before he reached out to place a shaking hand to Thor’s upper back. The cool touch was a small comfort, as it slid along Thor’s spine and rested on his shoulder, and – with a small squeeze – he leaned close enough that Thor could feel cold breath on his cheek. Thor turned and clasped a hand around Loki’s neck. He pulled him down to press their foreheads together, as Loki whispered:

“I have made a mistake.”

Thor laughed through his tears. He ran his hands through Loki’s hair, while he pressed chaste kisses to his cheeks and pulled back to lock eyes with him, and there he saw tears in Loki’s eyes in turn, along with what appeared to be a flicker of fear. The illusion around them shimmered in places, little inconsistencies invisible to outside eyes, but from within the small perimeter it provided a beautiful comfort. It was like being in their private world. Thor pulled away enough to wipe his eyes dry and sniffed a few more times, before he heaved a long sigh.

“At least you show regret,” choked Thor.

“I should have thought before I spoke.” Loki cursed with a wince. “I was out of line and I cannot apologise enough, although I will admit that I shall not grieve her death. I – I thought the worst of you . . . I let my fears cast doubts on your character . . . the healers shall at least have something to talk about on my next visit, I suppose. I am sorry, Thor.”

“You are entitled to your fears, Loki. I should have sent word to you why my absence was so extended, but I – I was there watching Jane withering away, and I could do nothing – _nothing_ – to stem the passage of time or cease her pain! I was helpless to help her, Loki.”

“I will admit I do not understand why you care so much.”

“Jane is the mother of my child,” mumbled Thor. “I knew this situation between us was not ideal, but I always envisioned a future where she would be there to worry over Thrúd’s first date and celebrate her graduation from the Academy as our parents celebrated with us and there to tell her the facts of life and -!” Thor took in a deep breath. “I pictured her _there_!

“I know I shall still not be alone. I know you will be an excellent stepfather, while our parents will be there to provide support, and then there are our friends, along with Donald back on Earth, but how will I explain to Thrúd that her mother is . . . gone? I know Jane was always uncertain about Asgardian treatments, but when the healers said it was too late to help her . . . a part of me still hoped there would be a miracle cure. I break for Thrúd.”

Loki draped his arms around Thor. Thor was pulled close, so that he was able to rest his head on a muscular shoulder with small choked sobs, and he listened with small cries as Loki stroked at his blond locks and hummed some old tune. A rich aroma travelled from the kitchens, as preparations went underway for the feast later that day to celebrate Loki’s first venture from his rooms and first appearance since his pregnancy was made official, and Thor was half-certain he heard the laughter of Helblindi and the scoff of a Vanaheim official.

It was some hours away, while Thor was certain Loki would only give a cursory appearance in the illusion of an Asgardian form, and yet there was a small comfort in being able to publicly be seen with Loki and spend quality time with him. The world moved on as if Jane were not on the cusp of death, and Thor shot out to grasp at Loki’s hand. He held it between them, as he squeezed tight and took in a deep breath, as Loki squeezed back and asked:

“What can I do to make this easier for you, Thor?”

“A kiss would be a start,” teased Thor.

Loki scoffed and rolled his eyes. He continued to hold onto Thor’s hand, with fingers interlaced behind the illusion that projected whatever image Loki thought appropriate, and – for a long few seconds – Thor feared he had crossed an unspoken line. Thor opened his mouth to apologise, only to find Loki lean close and press his lips to Thor. It was a gentle and almost chaste expression of affection. Loki soon deepened the kiss just enough to show a greater level of desire, until he pulled away before it could go any further. Loki whispered:

“I am sorry that I hurt you when you are already hurt.”

“No, Loki,” said Thor. “You were upset.”

“Was it not _you_ that said we must communicate when we are hurt?” Loki smiled. “We have too often in past hurt one another by reacting first and thinking second, and you were right that we should engage in open communication. I love you, Thor. I love you enough to _want_ this relationship to work, but at the same time I feel a stranger to you in this form, I feel . . .”

Loki pulled away with a wince, as he climbed to his feet. The long tails of his coat caught against the grass underfoot, where they brushed against the dew and glistened in the sunlight, and Loki – raising his blue hand to shield his face – wandered back underneath the tree and fell back against the bark. He covered the carving, although Thor could faintly make out the etchings of other couples through the millennia, and he lifted his head to gaze at the leaves above, even as Thor ran his hands over his face to try and wipe away the tears. Loki said:

“I feel too much has changed. We are strangers now.”

“You are right, Loki.”

“I am?” Loki flinched with visible fear. “I expected you to deny that.”

“You learnt that you were adopted. You were given a Jotun form. You were forced into marriage.” Thor took in a deep breath. “I have learnt that I was unfit to rule. I have learnt that I did wrong by you. I have become a father twice over. Can we really say that our past selves would recognise how we stand today, when we first fell in love and first began this affair?”

“So – So you think we should annul this shame of a marriage?”

“Even now you put words in my mouth,” teased Thor. “No, Loki. I think we merely need to start from the very beginning of this courtship . . . we never did openly date, just as we never did have that slow progression that other lovers experience. I want to ignore everything that led us to this point, as we get to know each other for who we are today.

“If you will allow me, I would take you on our first real date. I want to hear your thoughts and dreams and ambitions, even your complaints about your idiotic husband.” Thor smiled as Loki laughed through tears. “Jane has taught me that life is too short; I need you to know how much I love you and worship you, but I know I need to love you _for_ you and not for the memory of you or the illusion of you. Let us truly get to know one another.”

Loki rolled his eyes and folded his arms. It was clear he strove to maintain the image of an indifferent Jotun, as he looked off to the side with a half-smile playing on his lips, but there was a brightness to his red eyes that was impossible for him to stanch. Thor thought to Jane and how she wished only to be with her loved ones . . . he thought to stolen embraces with Loki, an affair kept secret through the centuries, and he thought to the marriage that was fraught with conflict . . . Thor slid from the bench and knelt on one knee.

“Loki Laufeyson, I am Thor Odinson,” said Thor. “We were wed through for an arranged marriage. We were brought together through past mistakes. If you would allow me, I would seek to understand you and love you on _our_ terms . . . let us make an arrangement into a choice, and let us make a mistake into a blessing. Will you date me, Husband?”

A loud laugh echoed through the gardens. Loki stalked forward with a shake of his head, until he came before Thor and looked down at him with hands pressed to his hips, and Thor – as he reached up with a romantic gesture for Loki’s hand – wiggled his eyebrows and forced a smile across his lips. The laughter continued, as Loki gave him his hand and allowed for a kiss to be pressed to blue skin, before he said with a desperate search for breath:

“You are a fool, Thor, and I love you.”

Loki pulled him by the hand, yanking him to his feet with surprising strength. A glance to his stomach appeared to offend him, as he scoffed and jabbed his fingers against Thor’s forehead with a roll of his eyes, and walked over towards the flowerbeds just beyond the stone benches, where the scent of flowers was heaviest. Thor came behind him and wrapped arms around his waist, as they looked out over the decorative area of the gardens meant solely to impress guests from other realms, and Loki leaned back his head on Thor’s shoulder to say:

“I will come out of my rooms more.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I must face the reality of this form,” whispered Loki. “I cannot guarantee I will always take my Jotun form, but perhaps I could meet your friends in my true form or sit on a small meeting while with my blue skin. I simply wish I did not have to endure the _ergi_ stigma alongside that of being Jotun . . . I can hide my form, but this pregnancy is more difficult.”

“If you wish to face one stigma at a time, I will support you in that.” Thor smiled and buried his face into Loki’s neck. “Why not appear as a pregnant Asgardian for now, until you feel comfortable with that part of your form, and later show your Jotun side when ready?”

“Perhaps, I may do just that. I simply know that I must do _something_ to redeem myself with the Allfather and with Helblindi, at least if I am to wield any power or later break free of this house arrest, and it may well be that –” Loki sighed. “It may well be that I need to face the fact I have committed grave crimes and must do right by those I have wronged.”

“Do you say that merely to impress me?”

Loki winced and turned in Thor’s grasp. The brief sparkle of a Machiavellian mind shone behind those red eyes, as Loki struggled to hide the smirk that played across his lips, and Thor reached up to clasp his hands around his bared neck. It was clear that Loki did not wish to confess that his motives were self-serving, but equally he so rarely lied to Thor even when he lied to all others, and Thor pressed a kiss to the ridges on Loki’s forehead, as he sniffed and blinked back tears that refused to stay hidden. Loki said in a smooth voice:  

“Truthfully, I could care less if not for you.”

“So I make you a better man?”

A further laugh escaped Loki’s lips, as he playfully pushed Thor away. The illusion around them flickered, so that a brief image of the two sat side-by-side flashed into his vision, only to be melted away and replaced by Loki now before him in Asgardian form. The pregnancy was still apparent, as there was no mistaking the large swell to his stomach, but it was strange to see white skin in place of blue skin, and Thor could only furrow his brow as he tried to keep his emotions suppressed and stay strong for his husband. Loki rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Why do you look at me like that, Thor?”

“Like what, Husband?”

“Like you are afraid to ask for a favour.”

Thor scratched at his beard with an awkward laugh. He glanced toward the royal quarters where the balconies overlooked the gardens, while his eyes searched for a familiar face, and yet all he saw was the silhouette of his mother against the curtains of her dressing room, as she brushed through her hair ready for the later feast. Loki sighed and looked in the same direction, before he flicked at Thor’s forehead to catch his attention. A red mark appeared on his skin, which stung from the small blow, and he frowned as Loki muttered out:

“What do you _want_ , Thor?”

“You say that you wish for a fresh start and redemption,” said Thor. “If that is the case, I would remind you that life is short. Our father is at the end of his life, Loki . . . it is why he sought to coronate me and retire from the crown, it is why Mother fears every Odinsleep may be his last, and it is why I think you should both make amends while you are able to make amends. Trust me that Mother is having this same conversation with him.”

“So you both conspire against us?”

“He gave you this form as he feared no other punishment would work, Loki. He wanted you to empathise with the men you slaughtered, as well as to feel as the Jotuns feel, and – while I have criticised him for keeping his Asgardian form – he believes this punishment apt as he does not believe you are harmed by this form. You have refused to be open with him.

“He misses your arguments. He misses your advice. I have heard him often regret that night on the bridge, as he fears his words were what led to your suicide attempt, and his stubbornness is perhaps the biggest trait you both share. I know you fear you are nothing alike him, so you strive to impress him in all ways, but you are more similar than you realise, and you will both regret not coming to a civil middle-ground in future.”

Loki looked back to the balcony. The shadow of Odin appeared behind Frigga, as he reached down to wrap arms around her, and Thor smiled to realise that they shared in the same love and desire that existed between all married couples. It was easy to forget the love between them, as Odin – so similar to Loki – appeared to shun all public displays of affection, so that most memories of hugs and kisses and laughter came from their childhood where they spent time together as a real family. Loki let out a long moan of frustration and spat out:

“I will talk to him, but I promise _nothing_.”

“I am glad, as I must return to Midgard for the next few days.” Thor winced. “After we talk with Father, I will plead that you come with me, but I fear he shall refuse and instead I shall have to go alone to reunite with old friends and say my final goodbyes with Jane, but – even as I leave you for now – I _need_ to be certain that you are safe and protected.”

“Thor, I do not approve your absence,” muttered Loki. “I understand your trips to the Nine Realm are to restore peace, but _this_ is different. I will never feel comfortable with you alone in her presence, and yet . . . I do not begrudge you and I feel your pain. I shall be fine.”

“Are you sure, Loki? I can –”

“At this moment, she needs you more than I.”

Loki reached out to clasp Thor’s shoulder, where he gave a gentle squeeze and turned to face the gardens around them, and his eyes soon fell on Sif half-hidden in the distance with Fandral dragging her to a secluded alcove, while servants gossiped and lingered by the kitchen doors, and Helblindi toasted in the royal guest room with Býleistr. The world continued to move around them, filled with life and love and loss, and Loki let his hand slide away as he stepped toward the main path that led back towards the palace, as he called out:

“Come, you wish for me to speak with Father?”

Thor blinked away his tears. He practically ran to Loki’s side, as he embraced him as much as the stomach between them would allow, and – with only a quick glance to ascertain permission – ran his hands over the swollen flesh with tears falling once more. The grief merged with his hope, as he struggled to process all that he felt, and he could only reach out to press a kiss to Loki’s cheek despite all those around them that may see, as he whispered:

“Thank you, Husband.”


	25. Chapter 25

Loki stood frozen.

It was difficult to endure how he paled. The illusion reflected well how his hands clenched into tight fists, as knuckles turned white and red crescent-shaped cuts appeared on his palms. Loki kept his head low as nostrils flared with every breath, while he kept a few feet away from the doors, and Thor noticed – each time he made to reach for the handles – his fingers would tremble and he would return his hands to his sides. He was afraid.

Thor placed a hand on his shoulder, as he locked eyes with Loki. A group of servants darted behind them in a race to reach the main halls, arms laden with decorative pieces for the evening feast in celebration of the pregnancy, but there were obvious stifled giggles as they cast their gazes towards Loki with blushes on their cheeks. Loki tensed under his hold. It was impossible to miss the swell to his stomach, even with looser attire and a slouched posture, and their comments were audible even from a distance. Thor winced and whispered:

“I did not mean to pressure you, Loki.”

Loki turned his head away from the private chambers. He let green eyes fall down the hallway, where a servant girl pointed at his stomach with a laugh, and Thor screwed shut his eyes as he listened to them run away with loud giggles and inappropriate comments. It would easy to punish the one, but impossible to control the many. Thor squeezed at Loki’s shoulder and forced a smile that did not quite reach his eyes, as he made a concerted effort to keep his gaze far above his abdomen, and Loki could only sigh in response with a shrug.

“No, I am here of my own accord,” whispered Loki.

“Then will you tell me why you seem so afraid?”

Loki rolled his eyes and gave Thor a stern look, while he folded his arms over his stomach and quirked an eyebrow with a shake of his head. It was clear he heard every word. He nodded in the direction of the servants, as he pulled away and let Thor’s hand linger in the air with nothing to touch and nothing to hold, while his eyes watered for a brief few seconds. The scent of his cologne mingled with that of the fresh foods that drifted through the hallways from the banquet below, while he remained silent despite the bustle about them.

A long sigh escaped Loki’s lips. Thor opened his mouth to speak, only to be silenced as the illusion of his Asgardian form was dropped, and before him the Jotun form of Loki came to life, with blue skin almost navy in the low lighting of the hallways. The guards jerked to attention around them, with the loud clatter of spears being adjusted and held high, and all eyes were locked on Loki, until they fell at ease when Thor raised a warning hand.

The sound of metal-on-metal continued, as several continued to stay on high-alert, and Loki merely laughed a deep and dark sound in response, as he locked eyes with Thor and rested a hand lazily on his stomach with a half-smirk playing on his lips. Thor lowered his head and placed his hand over Loki’s, where a small kick nudged Thor’s hand, and warmth washed over Thor, as he laughed and pressed their foreheads together. He blinked away his tears, as he relished in the connection to his unborn child. Loki confessed in a quiet voice:

“I was debating whether to enter in my true form, Thor.”

“I see you’ve finally made that decision?”

“Yes and no,” confessed Loki. “I would still rather enter Odin’s chambers as an Asgardian . . . _an equal_. . . I have a growing respect for Helblindi, but can you deny that the illusion of blue skin causes a dramatic difference in how our politicians treat him? I know Father showed no fear when I first touched the Casket, but what now when my form is permanent?”

“I have reason to suspect he will not care.”

“Oh? What makes you suspect anything other than condemnation?”

Thor continued to run his hands over the swollen stomach, where – with another kick – he burst out again into elated laughter and knelt to place a kiss to the soft skin, but the gesture appeared to evoke embarrassment and frustration from Loki. Loki struck at his hands with a hard slap, which forced him to stand and bow deep with a muttered apology, and he looked around to make sure the guards were not in hearing distance, as he yanked Loki close by his hand and leaned into his ear with a few surreptitious glances as he whispered:

“That is not Father’s natural form.”

Loki pulled away and furrowed his brow. He looked to the chamber doors, before he looked to the guards who stared with an instinctive distrust of his blue skin, and then finally let his eyes rake up and down over Thor’s body, as if he could somehow see some sign of a lie. Thor simply raised his hands in mock surrender and smiled a devilish smile that could only be matched by Loki. Loki raised his eyebrows and jerked back his head with wide eyes.

“Thor, you _are_ kidding?”

“Not at all,” said Thor. “Mother confided in me a few weeks back. I was not the only one incensed by his decision in how to punish you, and – to my knowledge – she threatened to undo the magic that kept him in his Asgardian form, only promising to reverse the spell once he made amends with you in open and honest conversation. I believe she fulfilled her threat.”

“Nonsense,” spat Loki. “He is useless with such _seiðr_ , only ever capable of using his innate abilities for transportation or as a weapon, and I cannot recall him ever using his abilities for subterfuge or reconnaissance. How has he hidden his Jotun form since her spell?”

“I would guess Mother cast an illusion for him in public.”

“So he is Jotun in her company or when alone, but Asgardian as far as the world observes? It would be _possible_ , I give you that much, but the Jotun form is not designed for such warm climes, Thor! He must be sweating up a storm under all those layers, not to mention sneaking food _after_ meals to compensate for the lack of adequate food _during_ main meals.”

Thor shrugged with a smirk. A passing guard flinched on sight of Loki, before he dropped to his knees and bowed his head low, and – as Loki dismissed him with a flick of his hand – the guard uttered out a mumbled: ‘thank you, Prince Helblindi’. It took every ounce of self-control for Thor not to burst into laughter, even as Loki spat out a comment that not all Jotun looked the same, but Loki must have caught sight of the barely stifled laughter, as he raked his eyes along Thor’s form with a curl of his lip. Loki let out a long hiss of breath.

“Mother will only reverse the spell,” muttered Loki.

“Father has fulfilled his side of the bargain by talking with you,” admitted Thor. “I will confess that I think her actions a mere token gesture, as – like with Helblindi – he does not need to endure the stigma of looking different to one’s people, as the illusion blinds the public to the truth of his condition. Still, he must look himself in the mirror . . .”

“I imagine he must live in fear of the truth, too.”

“It is one way to force empathy.”

Loki hummed a non-committal response. He reached towards the doors to the private chambers, while the servants and guards moved about them with great hustle-and-bustle, and he feigned ignorance well of the many comments and gasps at sight of him. Thor came to stand beside him, as he pressed his hand over Loki’s and let both rest over the handle, where they pressed down and paused before finally entering the rooms beyond. They shared a long look, while Thor nudged him playfully in the side and asked in a low voice:

“Does this knowledge make you feel better?”

“Honestly, Husband? Yes, it does.”

Thor laughed and reached out with a free hand, so that he could clasp his fingers around a cool neck and pull Loki close enough to press a chaste kiss to his lips, and – with a lingering smile – pulled back to lock eyes with Loki. There was a sheen of unshed tears, which were quickly blinked away and replaced with a feigned smile, but Thor knew that expression all too well from years of experience. Loki was nervous. He drew in a deep breath and squeezed at his hand over the handle, before pushing the door forward several inches.

“Come,” said Thor. “We should go inside.”

The door swung open before them. Thor took the lead as he walked inside with a crick of his neck, while Loki followed close behind with eyes cast down at the imported carpets, but no words were exchanged even as Thor reached around him to push closed the door. The main lounge was cool from the balcony doors thrown open to expose the cold air, while a bowl of ice sat slowly evaporating on the main table before the large sofas.

Frigga stood not far from the balcony, where the breeze caught at the long train of her dress and the locks of her hair, and she turned to reveal bright colour to her cheeks, as the chill caught at her skin and brought her a momentary discomfort. All thoughts about the cold were soon forgotten, as her blue eyes brightened on sight of Loki. The reaction was instantaneous, as she darted across the room with a graceful sprint, and threw her arms around Loki so that she could hold him close with tears brewing behind her eyes, as she smiled on him.

Thor watched as she guided Loki to the sofas. Loki made no complaints as her hands ran over his stomach, or when she slid pieces of ice to him from the bowl, even as he frowned and flared his nostrils at every fussing gesture or half-whispered compliment. He appeared oblivious even to Odin who appeared in the doorway to bedroom, who watched with eyes filled with unshed tears and a smile that deepened the lines about his face.

“My sons,” whispered Odin.

Loki visibly flinched. The room grew colder, as a draught swept its way through the open doorway, and Odin – despite his Asgardian form – looked flushed and warm as Loki so often did when the nights grew humid and the temperature increased. It was difficult to hide the Jotun form forced on him, even despite his mastery of his innate _seiðr_ and advanced age, but the dark looks sent to Frigga – who simply smiled a little too innocently in response – spoke of familiar marital conflicts that often led to public smiles and private frowns.

Thor bowed briefly and waited for Odin to take a seat opposite Loki, as his eyes moved immediately to the swollen stomach with a half-smile, and Thor quietly slipped beside him with head low and hands clasped between his parted legs. Frigga finally gave Loki some distance, even as she held his hands and entwined their fingers. He allowed the small maternal touch, even as he met Odin’s gaze with narrowed eyes, and drew in a deep breath.

“You wished to speak with me,” said Loki.

“Aye, that I did,” muttered Odin.

“Your father just wishes to engage within an open dialogue, Loki,” said Frigga. “We know that it has been difficult for you, but we fear that you think this punishment an attack on your character, and that is a belief that cannot be allowed to continue. We love you, my son. You were not punished due to a _lack_ of love, but _because_ of our love.”

“Is that so?” Loki sneered. “Pray tell, how does a Jotun form denote ‘love’? I notice that it is you telling me these things, placating me with what I would wish to hear, but I hear no such words from Odin Allfather. Why is that? Can he not bring himself to lie even to a Jotun?”

“Loki, please. If we are to make amends, we cannot attack one another.”

“If we are to make amends, Father must speak for himself.”

Frigga cast her gaze to Odin. He simply nodded his head in response, which brought a smile to her lips as she squeezed at Loki’s hand, and – as an awkward silence descended between them – Thor felt as if a thousand words were exchanged with a single look between them. It took only a subtle nod from Frigga to earn a long sigh from Odin. Odin sat up straight and rolled his shoulders, while he reached for a piece of ice from the bowl and chewed with a loud crunch, and the breeze blew ever harder as Loki found the courage to spit out:

“If this is all then I –”

“Loki, I did not punish you to hurt you.” Odin drew in a deep breath. “You are my son, but you are also a criminal whose crimes alone are enough to warrant execution, and I have been as lenient as I dare when it comes to maintaining peace and rehabilitating you into a society in which you could flourish. It was my intent that this Jotun form would teach you to empathise with the Jotun people, as well as to deter you from breaking house arrest.

“You will be absolved from your crimes on Jotunheim once this child is born, but I do not personally consider that absolution enough to atone for your crimes, and this act alone will not be enough to undo your actions on Midgard. I punished both of you most severely for the slightest indiscretions as children, but you would expect me to ignore such heinous atrocities?”

“I would rather have been left in the dungeons,” choked Loki. “You know that a worse punishment would have been to deprive me of Mother and Thor, but instead you _chose_ to drag me from my cell and cast me into the form of our enemies, but for what purpose?”

“I am to be hated for you by choosing the more humane option?”

“You were only ‘humane’ due to my pregnancy!”

Loki pulled away from Frigga. He climbed to his feet with some struggle, before he paced back and forth with hands pressed to his stomach, and Thor could only watch as he walked towards the balcony and leaned against the archway, so that the cold air could cool his blue flesh. Thor made to follow, but Frigga raised a hand to signal him to stay. It was Odin who stood in his stead. Odin winced with a deep pain in his joints, as he walked over to Loki and placed a trembling hand on his shoulder. Loki jerked away and turned with a curled lip.

“You did not wish to upset Helblindi,” said Loki. “You know that I am second-in-line to Jotunheim as things stand, while I was originally intended by Laufey to be his heir apparent before I was taken from my home to Asgard, and my child will soon be Helblindi’s heir.”

“Loki, my actions were not chosen solely for political reasons.”

“Then why cast me in this form? Oh, I _know_ Helblindi is _thrilled_ to have a Jotun brother. I have spoken to him enough times, while it also guarantees my child will be Jotun in turn, and – yes – you were correct in assuming I would not break my house arrest this time, but why should I when I can hear the taunts and accusations and mockery from our people?”

A low hiss of breath escaped Odin. He squeezed at Loki’s shoulder, as his eye narrowed and looked over the landscape before them, but his reaction to the final few words . . . _skin paled, body tensed, lips pursed_. . . it was clear to Thor that the servants would later be punished, likely with diminished wages and potentially even floggings for their insults. Odin angled his body towards Loki, where he breathed deep and nodded his head in an almost imperceptible manner, as he sought to find the words needed to calm his youngest son.

Thor rose and walked across the lounge, until he reached Loki’s side. He resisted the urge to embrace him, instead contenting himself with resting his hand on the railing beside Loki’s hand, and – with a subtle movement – let their fingers touch with a broken smile. Loki made no sign of acknowledgement, but did give an imperceptible movement of his finger in turn, so that he could further connect for a momentary comfort. Odin asked in a whisper:

“Who has slighted you, Loki?”

Loki pulled away from Odin. The sudden jerk of his body brought him closer to Thor, who clenched his hands to prevent from wrapping his arms around Loki, and instead he simply waited to see how Loki chose to proceed from that point onward. A low hiss of breath escaped Loki’s lips. There was a visible furrow to his brow, even as he shot his eyes from face to face in search of some secret or shared joke, and yet all expressions were those of sincerity and affection. Loki scoffed and asked with folded arms:

“You would have the whole palace whipped?”

“For the crime of insulting my youngest son -? Aye, I would.”

A cold breeze blew across the balcony. Thor noted how Frigga shivered from within the lounge, while Thor noticed small puffs of steam from his lips, and yet Loki and Odin – both still with locked gazes and an awkward silence – made no sign of discomfort. A few lights sparkled into life on the horizon, while the sun moved ever lower in the distance, and Loki soon turned his back to Odin and faced Thor with tears brimming in his eyes. Loki choked:

“This form has brought me nothing but pain, Father.”

“You have not mentioned this before to me,” said Odin. “I have asked you many times about how you cope, only to be told that you are coping well and had nothing to say upon the matter, and – while I knew this would not be easy on you – I did not expect you to cope any better or worse than you did to imprisonment or house arrest. How is it you feel?”

“I once felt that death was preferable to a Jotun form.” Loki ran a hand over his face. “I have learnt, however, that the Jotun are treated with respect by those that deserve respect, but are treated with fear and aggression from those with base and primal fears.”

“And this has somehow changed your thoughts on the matter?”

“I would rather be seen with _fear_ than with _pity_. Do you know how people look at me for being swollen with the offspring of a thick-headed man-child? I have had servants ignore my commands. I have seen the guards laugh when I walk past them. I read the gossip on stolen notes from the nobles! I would rather be a Jotun than with child, if I am honest.”

Odin took a step away from Loki, where he pressed both hands on the railing, and – even as Frigga came to stand at his side – he made no sign of acknowledgement of those around him, so that Thor was reminded too much of time spent with Odin during his youth. The serious conversations would often come as a surprise, as words exchanged during training exercises or in passing through the corridors, and Loki so often failed to understand that such conversations were not intended to be dismissive, but merely informal for their comfort.

“There is no shame in being with child,” said Odin.

“Have _you_ ever been with child?”

“Loki, you are carrying what is to be my future grandchild.” Odin let out a low hum. “I know that this has been a great fear of yours, as well as what pain you shall experience when it comes time for the birth, but this is a sacrifice that many could not – or would not – endure. I admire you for what has amounted to a selfless act. I could not do that.”

All fell silent. Loki rapidly blinked and lifted his head high, as he knitted together his eyebrows and turned to cast his eyes over Odin, but Odin simply continued to gaze out over the landscape without any indication to his motives or beliefs. Thor took a step back, allowing Odin and Loki to have their brief moment together. The air grew chilly, enough to bring goosebumps to his flesh, and yet Loki simply turned to touch at the railing and stand beside Odin with an equally unreadable expression. Loki lowered his head.

“I . . . thank you,” muttered Loki.

“I will make a public declaration tomorrow,” said Odin. “It will be made clear that I shall accept no insult due to your _ergi_ status, and that there shall be reforms with our laws regarding those that may choose such lifestyles. I hope this shall help to regain your trust.”

“We love you dearly, Loki,” swore Frigga. “We just want you to be happy.”

“And to learn your lesson. Your actions were abhorrent.”

Thor jumped to hear music. It blared from the halls below, as the celebrations before the feast appeared to begin in earnest, and already far below he could see the noblemen from Jotunheim congregating in a small group, as Asgardian nobles made it no secret that they were excluded from their ‘polite’ society. Loki closed his eyes and focussed his _seiðr_. The illusion of his Asgardian form was cast just in time, as Fandral looked out from the crowds beneath and waved up at them with a laugh. They would soon be expected.

Odin turned and walked away, as he headed towards the main doors. Frigga walked by his side, with her arm now entwined with his arm, and she leaned gently against him with a few whispered words as they made their way towards the growing party far below. The sound of their footsteps echoed about the lounge, until they were at the main doors and ready to exit, but Loki spun around with a pale face and wide eyes that spoke of deeper emotions.

“If it helps,” called Loki, “I do not hate you.”

Odin stopped a few feet from the door. A stamp of his foot signalled the guards to open the doors wide, so that the hallway beyond was revealed and the extra guards on patrol could be seen lining the walls on either side, and – for a brief moment – Thor feared Odin would continue to walk away and say nothing in response. A cold silence fell on them, until he turned to look over his shoulder with a smile that brought further lines about his face. He nodded towards Loki, before he called back a few final words as he prepared to leave:

“From you, my son, that means the world.”


	26. Chapter 26

_‘I am so sorry, Jane.’_

_Thor brushed against a cold cheek. The white skin looked sunken and thin, like a mere veil over bone, and the silence . . . the absolute silence . . . emphasised that something was wrong, that something was amiss. He noted that there was no twitch to her fingers. He noted that there was no rise to her breath. A tear ran from his eye as he continued to stroke at her cheek with a trembling hand, as if she might open her eyes and he could wake from the nightmare._

_He listened as Donald wept just outside the bedroom door, where Jane’s parents held him and comforted him, and – in turn – he provided them with a small comfort, as if anything could fill that hole in their lives . . . that absence . . . the unnatural loss when a child passes before their parents, whose purpose is ripped from their existence. The coffin was filled with flowers that let out a beautiful aroma, while people gathered in the rooms beyond to either keep vigil or pay their respects . . . whispered prayers, loud wails . . . such grief . . ._

_‘I swear I shall do right by Thrúd,’ sobbed Thor. ‘Our daughter will want for nothing. You provided me the greatest gift a man could receive . . . I can never repay you. Jane, I bid you take your place in the halls of Valhalla, where the brave shall live forever. Nor shall we mourn, but rejoice, for those that have died a glorious death. I will always admire you.’_

_A forced smile passed over his lips. The prayers of those just beyond provided them comfort, as they talked about a ‘better place’ and ‘the light at the end of the tunnel’, and the clichés proved enduring for a reason . . . he wanted to believe she lived on, happy and healthy. A bright sunbeam fell through the windows and onto her cheeks. The room was since tidied and ordered, so that no medical equipment could be seen, and yet family photographs and knick-knacks and flowers littered every surface. Thor looked beside Jane._

_There was Michael’s first baby blanket and Thrúd’s plush-toy snake, both of which were cherished by the children and by Jane in turn, and on her fingers lay the rings gifted by Donald, which included her wedding ring, but sans the engagement ring and eternity ring that Jane wished to be gifted to her children. Jane would be buried with keepsakes of the most precious moments of her life, but no possession could ever take the place of memories._

_Jane died contented. Thrúd would forever be incomplete._

_He knew nothing could compete with a mother’s love, just as he tried not to picture her questions and how he would answer them . . . what Jane was like, what they had in common, what Jane would have done differently in raising her . . . Thor gazed at Jane with blurred vision, as he sought to memorise every last detail. He wanted to remember the curve to her cheeks, the softness to her lips, the height of her brow . . . he would never look at her again, never hear her voice again . . . never ask for her advice, never hear her laughter . . ._

_Thor wept._

* * *

Loki stood motionless.

The branches above cast a heavy shadow over his form, turning blue skin nearly black within the shade, and it provided a cool comfort as the summer sun otherwise beat down on the gardens and reflected from the small streams. A sunbeam struck the water just right, causing an afterimage to burn in his red eyes any time he looked in its direction. It was almost a relief to be blinded from the world around him. He strove to look anywhere except to the small gazebo, where four stone benches took up prominent space, and drew in a deep breath.

Thor sat hunched forward on the bench furthest away. It was difficult to see the tears that streamed from his eyes, but easy to see his chest rock with wracked sobs, and beside him Fandral placed a hand on his upper back with a forced smile, as he babbled aimlessly empty platitudes that would do little to ease his pain. Volstagg sat opposite with a small box between his legs, which contained a variety of Midgardian objects and notebooks.

There was the occasional muttered comment from Hogun, who sat between them, along with loud laughs from Thor that would be cut short with broken wails, and – on rarer occasions – Volstagg would cast his eyes out over the garden as if in search of Loki. They continued lost and mournful, while Sif played not far from their eye with Thrúd on the dew-soaked grass. It was beautiful to watch, although Thrúd would constantly try to run to her father, only to be held back while Sif tried to distract her with exaggerated expression as Thor wept.

Loki winced and blinked back tears.

He raised a hand to his chest, as he watched how Thrúd refused to keep her distance, and – each time Thor would cry – she would reach with hands clasping and unclasping toward him, only to be scooped up by Sif who would whisper how he needed space. It was difficult to watch the young toddler unable to comprehend such sadness, as well as oblivious to the loss of her mother, and Loki could only bite at his lip to hold back chastisement of Sif, whose good intentions only prevented Thrúd from seeking comfort in turn from her father.

The pain inside grew, while he fought back choked breaths. Thrúd was visibly red in her face as tiny fists rose to rub at her blue eyes, and – as regained his composure – he looked down to his blue skin and flexed his fingers, too exhausted to cast the familiar illusion with the baby so large and his duties so extensive. He pressed a hand to his stomach and winced, as he shook his head and turned to walk away, leaving her to those that would not provide a scare.

“Thrúd, please do not run,” called Sif.

Loki turned. Thrúd appeared to see him through the trees and shrubbery, so that tiny feet pounded along the grass while she reached out with open hands, and – as she laughed and stumbled – Sif ran hunched over behind her ready to lift her should she fall forward. Loki swallowed hard and stepped back. He pressed a hand to the bark of one tree, when Sif caught his eye at last and visibly flinched in surprise at seeing him hidden in the shadows, but that momentary lapse in attention was all Thrúd needed . . . tiny hands pushed through the shrubs.

“Careful,” said Sif. “Thrúd, stop that!”

A tiny face made its way to his side. He looked down to see rosy cheeks covered in mud and scratches from the garden, while Thrúd bounced on her heels with a wide smile, and her small hands reached toward him in expectation of an embrace. Loki furrowed his brow, as he raised a hand to signal to Sif that their sudden presence was fine. Sif stayed on the other side of the shrubbery, slightly out of breath from chasing Thrúd, and nodded in response.

Thrúd toddled over to him, as she continued to hold her hands high, but Sif said nothing to discourage her from seeking Loki’s attentions . . . his blue skin, his red eyes, the ridges on his brow . . . Thrúd appeared oblivious and Sif unconcerned. A tiny hand reached out for his hand, which hung low at his side, and the warmth of her fingers . . . the softness of the touch, the way she pulled with expectation . . . it sparked a primal fear. _He could harm her_. Loki jerked his hand away, desperate to spare her the icy touch of a Jotun.

He struggled to control his racing his heart. He held his hand close to his chest, as he panted for breath and looked down with wide eyes, and – swallowing hard – he saw her blue eyes fill with tears that made them shimmer and shake, until she her lip trembled and a low moan escaped her throat. Loki furrowed his brow and let out a shuddered breath. He offered a trembling hand to Thrúd, who took it with a bright smile and a sniff, before slapping him hard on his wrist and calling out ‘bad Lo, bad’. Loki laughed through ensuing tears.

He whisked her up into his arms and held her close. Thrúd laughed and pulled at his collar, while she babbled aimlessly in the language of a child, and he wept into her blonde hair with broken sobs that were matched only by Thor some way across the garden. He soon stopped with his tears when she slapped at his face and called out ‘bad pain’, before kissing his cheek as she beamed a bright smile, and Loki – unable to cease his tears – kissed her back.

“Thrúd is not afraid of my form,” whispered Loki.

“Jane taught her to fear nothing.”

“A foolish sentiment.” Loki smiled with sad laughter. “I would have my stepdaughter at least learn to fear strangers and those that would do her harm, but . . . I appreciate that she remembers me so well, especially so as not to cower in sight of Jotun skin.”

Sif smiled and climbed through the shrubbery. Loki ignored her as he fussed over Thrúd, who would occasionally point to Thor with cries of ‘Dada’ or ‘oaf’, as she fought to be let down onto her feet and desperately tried to pull Loki over to Thor. There was no sign of fear. There was no evidence of pain. Thrúd treated her time in the gardens as any other visit, as she played and gossiped and laughed with the innocence of a child, while Loki felt his son kick from inside as if in response to her voice. Sif asked in a quiet voice:

“How long were you watching us?”

Loki looked across the garden, where Thor was held by Fandral. There was no sign that anyone had noticed Loki where he stood, even as they were lost together in grief, and even Sif – who strove to be strong for Thrúd – continually cast her eyes to Thor with evident concern. It was difficult to confess that he had been there from the start, as he watched for some hours as Thor wept and laughed. Loki shrugged and ran a hand through his hair, even as Thrúd tugged at his arm and strove to drag him toward Thor, and he could mutter out:

“I have been here long enough to see his pain.”

“Thor is inconsolable,” whispered Sif. “He has asked for you, Loki, but we were told that you were last seen in the gardens and could otherwise not be found. He is unsure how is he to raise Thrúd without a mother, unsure how he is to endure the loss of a friend, and unsure how _you_ shall react now Thrúd will be a permanent part of your family. He is afraid.”

“I did not want to make matters worse. Do you know how much it hurts me to see him driven to tears? He cries so rarely and only when overwhelmed, but here I am . . . unable to _fix_ his pain and unable to make it better. I feel _helpless_ , Sif. I feel _useless_.”

“Do you think he looks for you to fix matters? He has long come to terms with Jane’s inevitable demise, but there is a great difference between knowing something on a cognitive level and feeling it on an emotional level. You know that Thor has never lost anyone before, especially one whose absence will be felt forever, and he needs support and comfort.”

“I want nothing more than to hold him,” confessed Loki. “I just could not bear to be seen in this form by the Warriors Three, let alone by Thrúd! I expected her to scream on sight of me, perhaps undoing all that I have done to forge a bond with her, and I already so feared losing her . . . her hating me, her being taken from me . . . how could I have known she would have – have – have _accepted_ me? Her hatred would only have made matters worse for Thor.”

“Now you know she does not hate you, how will you proceed with Thrúd?”

“You mean now I am to parent a child who is not mine?”

Loki sighed and looked down to Thrúd. It was impossible to ignore the way she tugged at his hand, until seemingly giving up and slapping at his wrist again with a ‘bad’, and then – with a devilish grin and loud giggle – she ran as fast as her small legs could manage towards Thor, while Loki was forced to signal to Sif not to give chase. Thrúd fell once, but soon climbed to her feet and continued to run. There was a loud chant of ‘Dada’, until she finally reached Thor and tugged at his trouser legs for his attention. He lifted his head.

Thor lifted Thrúd onto his lap, as he finally wiped away his tears with a forced smile, and – with a loud cheer that verged on a squeal – she pointed to Loki and chanted out ‘Lo, Lo, Lo’ until Thor followed her gaze and saw Loki. He appeared to slump his shoulders in relief and smiled in earnest, as Thrúd waved with big and wild movements. Thor waved in turn, bringing further laughter from Thrúd, until Loki waved back with a warm smile.

“You could adopt her as your child,” suggested Sif.

“No, I could not.” Loki winced. “I swore that we would _never_ lie to our children, which means always allowing them to know their heritage, and I would not seek to replace Jane, as I know too well that I would _never_ allow myself to be replaced in our son’s life. I despise that woman, but I could not deny her the right to be a mother to her child. Thrúd will only ever have two parents, even if one of those is absent, and I cannot be more than her stepfather.

“That being said, I do swear to raise her as my mother raised me. I am told that my biological mother was a great woman, but the truth is that I have only known one mother, and I could never trust or love another as much as I trust and love Frigga. I remember being taught her _seiðr_ until my skill outgrew hers, just as I remember her stroking my hair when I was sick and hugging me when I passed any given test. I remember her warmth and love.”

“I am sure you could love Thrúd with that same warmth,” said Sif.

“Even with the coldness of a Jotun?”

“Why not? Thrúd certainly appears to believe so,” teased Sif. “I know you fear the stigma that comes with your form, but the fact is that our society is slowly becoming more exposed to the Jotuns and their culture. It may take a few centuries, but I do believe that people will first grow to tolerate and then grow to accept, and – you may well note – that the Warriors Three have not balked in fear or horror at your appearance. They see you, Loki.”

Loki stepped back and drew in a sharp breath. He cast his eyes over to the gazebo, where Fandral struggled to hide his surprise and instinctual distrust, but Hogun appeared beyond indifferent and Volstagg wildly gestured to him to come join them, and – for a brief moment – he forgot that his form was not Asgardian. Loki raised a hand and flexed his fingers, as he took in the sight and heaved a long sigh, and closed his eyes for a long few seconds in an attempt to still his racing heart, before he stepped out onto the lawn and muttered:

“They never were the sharpest swords in the armoury.”

“Loki, do not let Jane’s death be in vain.” Sif followed him into plain view. “There is nothing more than she desired than to be with her children, and – while memories may be eternal – she died knowing that Thrúd would never so much as recall her face. Jane longed to see the world, even as you cloistered yourself in your room. Jane longed to be a mother, even as you kept Thrúd at a distance and only bonded with her in secret. You have a life left to live.”

“I am coming to terms with that,” said Loki. “I simply struggle to reconcile my past with my future, as I never envisioned . . . _this_. Do you know what is worse than being a Jotun? _I do_. Thor needs me, but I have never before given him comfort in public. If I tend to him now, they will laugh and mock and say it is the instincts of a _wife_. . . an _ergi_. . .”

“If I were your mother, I would tell you not to worry about their words. I would tell you that by being strong and confident, you might change their views and improve our society, and that what matters most is your happiness and Thor’s happiness. It is best not to let the opinions of those that are nothing reduce your life to nothing, as if you constantly abstain from what you wish to do -? How will you ever be content as a shadow of your self?”

“And what would you say as the friend of my husband?”

Sif smiled and shrugged, but her eyes moved to the gazebo. Thrúd sat on Thor’s lap, with her arms wrapped around his neck and her head on his shoulder, and – as he struggled to hold back his tears with a trembling lip – he lifted Thrúd upright so that he could hold her against his chest, where she slept with little murmurs and yawns. There was a flush to Thor’s cheeks, while tearstains clearly marked trails over his skin and he clasped Thrúd so hard that Loki feared she may be in discomfort, but she continued to nap as Sif stepped closed to Loki.

“I would tell you to grow up,” said Sif. “Thor suffers. This is not about who suffers more or what people think, but about the man you claim to love being in pain, and it is _your_ duty to ease his suffering and stand by his side. He always stood by yours. Do right by him.”

“I have never experienced such grief,” mumbled Loki.

Thor held to Thrúd like a lifeline, as muscles bulged and eyes screwed shut, and Loki could practically feel the pain palpable through the air, as Thor rocked back and forth with murmured songs that were once sang in their youth. Loki made to use what little strength remained to cast an Asgardian form, but Sif quickly grabbed at his hand and shook her head, while she nodded towards the others with a frown, and he remembered – with a stab of guilt – that she knew all too well about grief and empathised too well in turn. Sif whispered:

“Thor has never experienced pregnancy.”

“You’ve made your point, Sif.”

“I do not believe he has ever experienced being a Jotun, either.” Sif frowned and let go of his hand. “He has always been by your side, even when he struggled to understand you, and – even if you do not understand him – the best thing you can do is simply be there for him.”

Sif nodded to him with a respectful smile, before she walked towards her friends and was shushed before even a word could be spoken, as Fandral gestured wildly to Thrúd and stood as Sif took a seat among them, and Loki – seeing the brief blush to his cheeks – shook his head with a smirk and took a few slow steps towards the gazebo. The guards on the perimeter paid him no mind, while Fandral mock saluted and Volstagg waved with a grin.

They said nothing, even the closer he came to Thor. He struggled to hold back the bile in his throat or the cold sweat over his skin, but – as Hogun muttered a typical greeting – he grew to suspect that they would not treat him any differently for his form, although Fandral joked that he looked a little ‘blue’ before being kicked by Volstagg. The world carried on around them, with the breeze picking up speed and the birds singing from the trees, and Loki took a cautious seat next to Thor as he tried to control his breathing with slow breaths.

Thor bore bloodshot eyes and chapped lips. He continued to hold onto Thrúd, even as he slid closer to Loki until thighs touched, and he looked to Loki with a trembling smile, until he parted his lips in an attempt to speak even as no sound came forth. Loki shook his head. Thor at once closed his mouth with a wince, until Loki placed a hand on his knee and let out a staggered sigh, as he forced a smile and leaned in closer to whisper back:

“I am here for you, Husband.”


	27. Chapter 27

“Loki looks contented.”

Odin pressed his hands to the marble. The railing enabled his fingers something to wrap around, as the crooked digits moulded themselves to the cold material, and an enduring ache was relieved by the cool touch that seeped through the swollen muscles. He placed a great deal of weight on his hands, as he sought to remove the pressure from his back. A warm breeze swept across the balcony, which caught at his hair and rustled the long locks, while he tilted back his head and enjoyed the sun now his Asgardian form was returned.

A loud squeal from the gardens caught his attention; Thrúd sat among the flowerbeds, where tiny hands ripped at some of the flowers due to be removed later that afternoon, and – as she pulled out clumps of petals – she would throw them above her head, only for them to rain down over blonde hair. Loki struggled to sit beside him, as he lectured her on how ‘only these’ were to be plucked, before flowers were thrown over his head in turn.

The frown on his face spoke of impatience. The swell to his stomach marked his five-month mark and a severe difficulty in mobility, even as he sat with legs parted and stretched out before him in an undignified manner, and the many pink petals scattered over black hair did little to return his image of an intimidating prince. Thor let loose an audible laugh, as he threw himself onto the grass beside them and started to work on a flower garland for Thrúd, while Thrúd clapped her hands in excitement and watched with eager eyes.

“I would say he is happy,” said Frigga.

Frigga came behind him with arms outstretched, as hands slid around his waist and a soft cheek pressed itself to a broad shoulder, and – with a warm smile – he turned and embraced Frigga with callused fingers already burying themselves in her hair. The rich scent of honey and lavender drifted from her incensed hair and various perfumes, while her golden locks tickled at his nose as he pressed kisses to her forehead. Warmth spread through his body, as every muscle relaxed and his sensed heightened, and he struggled to let go of her form.

He clung to her sleeves, even as she moved just a few inches to his side, and let go only to drape an arm around her shoulders and rest his hand on her neck, so that he could brush its back with the pad of his thumb. He leaned against her and together they watched below, where Thrúd now bore a crown of flowers and Loki cast illusions of horses and soldiers to entertain her while Thor attempted to clean off the soil from her soft hands.

“I do not think happiness can come so easily,” said Odin.

“What makes you say that, Husband?”

“Do you think that mental illness can be cured in mere months?” Odin squeezed at her neck with a low sigh. “I recognise that he has made vast progress, but I fear that – while he deals well with his Jotun status – he struggles to accept his position as an _ergi_. He stabbed a member of our Security Council, when the gentleman attempted to touch his stomach.”

“You make it sound so violent,” chastised Frigga. “I was there for the event in question, and the man was stabbed with a fork during a state meal. It barely left a mark on his hand. Helblindi managed to defuse the situation well . . . his laughter was quite infectious.”

“Are we to excuse his every action? It was these excuses that led to him further and further acting out, which is something I seek to avoid in future, and if he is struggling to process the perception that others have towards him -? Well, it is something that must be addressed. I can foresee him neglecting his unborn child or internalising their words about his condition . . .

“Loki has grown and matured in these past few months, but he still cares all too greatly what others think about him and still seeks for external approval, and it is possible he could fall into another depression should communication break down once more. I see my stubbornness reflected in his eyes. I see the fear to appear ‘weak’, as he seeks to be a stoic ruler. We lost Hela to such madness and alienation . . . I cannot lose another child in such a manner.”

Frigga tensed beneath his touch. The visible tears in her eyes were impossible to ignore, even as she rapidly blinked and pursed her lips together, and her head tilted to look toward the sun, where she allowed a trembling smile to deepen the lines about her face. Odin knew that she still woke to dreams about their daughter, who took so much after Fárbauti and the Jotun side of the family, and yet some days she would weep to forget the shade of her skin or the timbre to her voice. Odin held tighter to Frigga and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

“Do not speak her name to me,” pleaded Frigga.

A low sigh escaped his lips, as he came to stand behind Frigga. He placed kisses to her neck, as his thumbs dug into the knots of his shoulders, and – as he massaged at the relatively firm skin – he buried his face into the crook of her neck and breathed deep. A minute passed before he looked away, where he saw Loki struggling to stand in the garden and slapping away Thor’s hand any time it was offered to him. Odin smiled as he felt for Thor.

It was too easy to remember Frigga’s second pregnancy, where towards the end hormones seemed to outgrow the need for etiquette, and every offer to ‘help’ was taken as an affront on her autonomy. Odin screwed shut his eyes, as he strove to push back the memories of Hela, but every glance toward Loki reminded him too much of what was lost. He swallowed hard the lump that formed in his throat, while he continued to press kisses to her neck, and Frigga reached up to stroke at his long locks with a broken smile and a whispered:

“We must leave Hela in the past.”

“Do you fear as I fear that we shall repeat past mistakes?” Odin winced. “Loki must be punished for his actions on Midgard, but I fear that to be too harsh shall provoke him into rebellion . . . Hela strove to do what she believed I could not, while Loki sought to do what he thought would make me proud. I have nearly lost both by my lack of perception. If I had seen how much they needed me, perhaps they would not have rejected me.”

“I believe we have less to fear with Loki,” confessed Frigga. “He may not have the most selfless intentions, but he does seek to make amends for better or worse. I have heard him state that he wishes to visit Jotunheim to volunteer his abilities to their cause, so that he may aide in their rebuilding efforts and help stabilise their economy, and I find this a noble idea.”

“Is it so noble when he seeks only to win over those he has alienated? Will he still feel proud when a few token efforts do not immediately ease the Jotuns concerns or win back my full trust? Redemption only works when there is true repentance. He cannot be selfish.”

Odin paused in his ministrations. The ache to his fingers returned, as pins-and-needles struck at his skin and a burning sensation dug at his knuckles, and he dropped his hands to his side and moved back to the railing, where he looked to Loki. He knew that Loki would only find closure in his desire for redemption if he were truly repentant, but that any selfish motives would only further his depression as his intents would not achieve his desired outcome. Odin reached for her hand and clasped it with a gentle squeeze, as Frigga whispered:

“He also seeks to help Thor restore peace.”

Frigga smiled and leaned against him, as she brought her other hand over his, and together they stood side-by-side and looked over the gardens, where Thrúd ran in circles with delighted cries as Thor gave mock chase. Loki sat on the grass with hands rubbing circles against his stomach, before he cast his gaze high and noticed them with a visible flinch, and Frigga simply nodded with a smile toward him, as Odin looked away as Frigga continued:

“I believe he is more sincere in that desire.”

“How would he accomplish that?”

“He seeks to accompany Thor in various battles,” said Frigga. “He has quite the silver-tongue, too, and so I do believe he would be suited well to diplomatic missions and to serve as an ambassador of our people. I think we should encourage him to make amends through inter-planetary relations; it would give him a sense of purpose, as well as prove that he still valued.”

“I believe it is still too early to bestow him too much responsibility.” Odin drew in a deep breath and shook his head. “Still, you are correct that it may provide him a necessary distraction and an outlet for his insecurities. I believe it is a task that would suit him well.”

“You would do well to express your pride to him,” teased Frigga.

“Aye, I am proud of what he has achieved. I simply do not think he has yet redeemed himself or proven himself truly changed, although I do appreciate his vast efforts and accomplishments, and – while I would not yet forget the past – I do think it is perhaps time to steadily introduce to him new responsibilities and involve him more in our politics.”

Odin gently tapped his free hand on the railing. A glance to Loki revealed Asgardian attire that did little to hide his developing stomach, while his Jotun eyes followed Thrúd with keen attention, and a necklace about his neck bore a family insignia as a gift from Helblindi, made from charmed ice that would never melt and could provide a cool comfort. Loki already spoke to many from other realms, liaising with a natural ease gifted to him through centuries of education and training, and even now – swollen and sore – he sat with perfect grace.   

“In time, he shall be a grand prince and an excellent leader,” said Odin. “I will have words with Loki, so that he knows there is room to grow and that we believe such growth possible, and that he has our unconditional support as he develops into a fine young man.”

“I would perhaps phrase your appreciation in a different manner.”

Odin furrowed his brow, as he looked to Frigga. He saw the raised eyebrow and half-smile that graced her lips, which spoke of one half-amused and half-frustrated, and – with a blush – he gazed back to the gardens below. Loki managed to stand with reluctant acceptance of help, as Thrúd pulled at his sleeves, and Odin smiled as he remembered similar scenes with Loki and Thor from their youth . . . _one clambering for attention, the other crying in jealousy_ . . . Frigga interrupted his thoughts as she continued with firm words:

“You talk only about what he will accomplish, which he shall misinterpret. Loki will believe you only see what is lacking, as he thinks about all he has _not_ done in this time, and he will then either grow alienated or over-correct in his attempts to gain your favour. Do not talk about what he _may_ become, but speak instead about what he _is_ in this moment. Tell him of your pride of his progress. Tell him of your happiness in his desire for redemption.”

Odin screwed shut his eyes. He reopened them to see Thrúd balanced in Thor’s arms, as he reached out to clasp a hand around Loki’s neck, and – bringing their foreheads together – a smile graced both sets of lips, until Loki dared to deliver a kiss and pulled back with a flush to his cheeks and a playful shake of his head. There was a laugh from Thrúd, who reached out with clasping hands, only to squeal with glee when Loki pressed a kiss to her crown of hair, and together they appeared already a real family, despite their close relations.

It was almost easy to forget that they were brothers, but – despite his discomfort – Odin could not bring himself to take away that small love and comfort they came to find with each other, and he could only watch as they walked side-by-side with shared whispers and mutual laughter, until they were finally out-of-sight. Odin turned and rested his hands against the railing, as Frigga ran a hand through blonde locks that moved wildly with the increasing wind.

“It will not be long before he is a father,” said Frigga.

“They say you do not understand the love of a parent until you become a parent.” Odin smiled and let out a small scoff. “Even now I make mistakes, but even now I simply want for Loki to be the best that he can become. Do you think he shall understand more when he holds his son and feels that same love as I felt on holding him? I fear –”

Odin stopped midsentence. He drew in a harsh breath and brought a trembling hand to his temple, as he rubbed at the skin and looked to the rooms beyond, where – along one far wall – he saw a mural that depicted the growth of their family from Thor’s birth to a time close to his intended coronation. The paint pealed in places, revealing darker colours beneath, and he could only clench his fists as his heart raced, while he swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat and burned at his tongue. Frigga leaned close and whispered:

“What do you fear, my love?”

“I fear that he shall still believe I never loved him.”

The breeze continued until Frigga required both hands to hold back her hair, while her skirts rustled and caught about her ankles, and Odin – as he listened to the loud howls – could only glance to the images of Thor and Loki, both so unrecognisable and yet both containing something so innately ‘them’ in their expressions. He walked into the rooms beyond, as he made his way toward the sofa and sat with head hung low, and Frigga came to awkwardly sit behind him, as she spread her legs on either side of him with skirts hitched up.

He smiled, as if they were back in their youth, and enjoyed the way that her hands worked at his shoulders and undid the knots that quickly formed, as she reciprocated the small intimacy from earlier on the balcony. Odin groaned and let his head loll, while Frigga pressed kisses to the back of his neck with hummed songs that were half-remembered, and he soon looked back to the image of Loki and smiled to see green eyes staring back through the paint.

“Talk to him,” pleaded Frigga. “Let him know he is loved.”

Odin drew in a deep breath. He reached behind to take her hand, which he gave a squeeze and pulled forward to kiss at the wrist, and – as he laid kisses on each and every finger – he closed his eyes and tried to memorise every sensation and every touch.  Frigga slid beside him and brought her palms to his cheeks, as she gently turned his head to lock eyes with her, and he could only smile and clasp at her hands in turn with tears already half-formed.

“I will talk to him,” swore Odin.


	28. Chapter 28

_‘Is Thrúd okay?’_

_Thor rose from the table. All eyes fell on him, as he pressed his fingertips to the polished wood, and he cast his gaze beyond them to the large wooden doors, which were thrown open by the guards to reveal Sif with Thrúd in arms. A cool draught swept through the hall, bringing a few pleased gasps from the Jotun side of the table, while Helblindi remained ever silent and ever alert as he simply observed every small interaction and reaction._

_Thrúd lay quiet against Sif’s chest, as tiny hands clung to black locks. It was all Thor could do not to run to her side, as his heart raced loud enough to block out all other sound, and a dizzy spell overcame him as he swayed where he stood, as mouth ran dry and eyes threatened to spill with water. A nervous smile and nod from Sif sent a wave of relief crashing over him, as he let out an audible hiss of breath and let a trembling smile cross over his feature. Sif bounced Thrúd, but something was still wrong . . . her cheeks were pale, her eyes wide . . ._

_‘Loki is in labour,’ whispered Sif._

_Time stopped. Thor stared with wide eyes and open mouth, as he struggled to process a barrage of conflicting emotions, and – with a soft and low laugh – he ran a hand through his hair and rapidly blinked with a smile. Helblindi moved in the corner of his vision, where he politely excused himself from the meeting with the natural smirk that came natural only to politicians and princes, and soon was heading directly to Sif’s side, even as Thor could only twitch and fidget and struggle to find appropriate words. He nodded towards the diplomats._

_‘Excuse me,’ said Thor._

_Thor shoved his papers towards the adviser at his right; a few murmured complaints echoed forth, as a loud rustle followed and a finger tapped at the table, but Thor – in his desperate rush to reach Sif – already stumbled over his feet and headed straight toward her frame. Sif patted at Thrúd’s back, as she sank into the shadows of the hallway between the columns of an archway, where Helblindi leaned against a wall with a quirked eyebrow._

_It was difficult to read his expression, but Thor dedicated a barely concealed excitement, as his lips twitched into a half-smile and his chin was raised high as if with pride, and Thor could only pant for breath as the doors slammed shut behind him, as he realised he ran towards them with no concern for grace or etiquette. He threw out a hand to Thrúd, as he stroked at her hair, and nodded toward Helblindi in acknowledgement of his position, but he struggled to form words through a dry mouth and trembling lips. Thor choked out:_

_‘Do I need to be concerned?’_

_‘Evidently not,’ teased Helblindi. ‘If anything were seriously wrong, they would send a healer or a high-ranked official. If my heir was born, she would have greeted you with smiles and tears. We were already told Loki is in labour, which leads me to believe . . . he has foolishly refused pain-relief. That would explain the concern that falls short of panic.’_

_‘Prince Helblindi is right,’ said Sif. ‘The Allmother is with Loki as we speak, but he refuses to lie down for the healers to better attend to him and he refuses to take any medicines that would aid in his pain. I know traditionally men are not to witness the birth, but –’_

_‘He is my heir.’ Helblindi shrugged. ‘They will make an exception.’_

_‘They will have no choice,’ spat Thor._

_Thor looked to Thrúd and clenched his fist . . . he  missed being the first to hold her, he missed bearing witness to her first steps, he missed those sleepless nights bonding ever closer with his daughter . . . he could not miss one single second with his son. He blinked back tears and bent down to press a kiss to blond hair, before he stepped back and mentally planned the quickest route toward the infirmary. Helblindi stood ready to follow. Sif held tight to Thrúd with a frown. Thor licked at his lips and swallowed back his fear, as he said in a low voice:_

_‘I must go to Loki,’_

_* * *_

Thor paced back and forth.

The antechamber was filled with the aromas of various foods, as well as littered with luxury items from across the Nine Realms, which included a pack of cigars gifted by Donald for ‘when the time comes’, and champagne sat to the side ready to be popped. It was as if the only concern for Thor ought to be the inevitable celebration, so much so that he was forced to ask many diplomats and politicians and distant relatives to leave the small room.

They lingered as if they had a right to be there. They chatted as if they were a part of events. It took the Warriors Three to escort everyone to a far room, where a buffet was laid out and entertainment provided, and Thor was finally left alone with Odin, even as the healers asked whether he would not prefer for friends to be present. Thor buried his hands into his hair, as he yanked at the blond locks with a curse, and tears pricked the corners of his eyes as he strove to hold back his stress and panic. He sent covert glances to the main doors.

A loud scream echoed forth, as Thor tensed from head to toe.

He stood tall and with mouth dry, while he panted for breath and squeezed shut his eyes, and he fisted his hands further into his hair, before he dropped them by his side and looked to Odin with tears threatening to spill. Odin stood with a grimace of pain, as he struggled to walk beside Thor and place both hands on his upper arms. The warm touch provided a small comfort. Thor drew in a staggered breath and tried to slow his heart, even as Odin forced a smile and nodded at him as if to ease his mind, and yet Thor could only meekly mutter out:

“I cannot wait out here any longer.”

Thor made to storm toward the door. Odin grabbed a hold of him once more, holding tight to his upper arms and locking him tightly into place, and – each time he yanked away from Odin – Odin would pull him back with admirable strength and restraint. A cold silence descended on them, as Odin lowered his head and locked eyes with Thor. Thor flinched as he heard another scream and pushed Odin back with considerable force, so that he could only pale with guilt to see his father stumble back, and yet the familiar rage refused to subside.

“Let me pass,” ordered Thor.

“What do you plan on doing once in there, Thor?”

It was a fair question. Thor dropped his shoulders and ran a hand over his mouth, as he thought to the many evenings where Loki would curse him to bring him chamomile teas or rub his back through his nausea, and he knew that Loki loathed being coddled and spoiled in moments of vulnerability, seeing it only as a sign of total weakness. Thor fell back against the wall beside the door, as a tear ran down his cheek and onto his lip. It tasted bitter.

“He is my _husband_ ,” said Thor.

“Aye,” said Odin. “Frigga is also my wife. I have endured this eternal torment, so I understand well your impatience, but do you _truly_ think you can ease Loki’s suffering or cease his pain? You will only suffer to see him suffer. You shall see him at his worst . . . there shall be blood, urine, faecal matter . . . do you think he will wish for you to see that?”

“It seems this rule exists only to protect the father and not help the parent in the midst of childbirth. I may be spared such a sight, but surely Loki would rather have someone at his side to tell him everything will be okay and pass him ice chips and rub at his back?”

“Your mother is there to attend to such needs,” said Odin.

“It should not be her duty to attend to him!”

Thor slammed a fist against the wall. He heard his pulse pound in his ears, as he cursed everything . . . he cursed Loki for both loathing to be fussed, but ever desiring someone by his side lest he believe himself rejected . . . he cursed his father for his desire to abide by social etiquettes, even when those same etiquettes were unjust or unfair. He cursed being so helpless . . . _New York destroyed, Jane dead, Loki in pain_. . . he simply cursed. Thor swallowed back his tears, as his lips trembled and his hands shook at his sides.

“ _I_ was the one to impregnate him.” Thor continued to pace. “ _I_ am the one who has seen him at his most vulnerable. _I_ am the one he trusts above all else. It should be me who tends to his needs, especially when he bears me the greatest gift one can possess . . . a child.”

“He endures no more or less than any other mother.”

“He is _not_ a mother,” spat Thor. “He is a male. He is a _father_. They say that childbirth is a way for a person to atone for all sins, so that they are washed clean through a pain unlike any other, and that the pain is so great that it balances the karmic deeds. To hear his screams, I could almost believe such superstitions. _He is in pain_! He – He did not _want_ this!

“We were forced to commit a one-time act to provide an heir, which is something I should have refused from the start, and now he endures the trauma from that mutual rape and a child as a permanent reminder of what he endured. All the while, he doubts his ability to act as a parent. Now, as he experiences such _fear_ and _agony,_ he knows I choose to be out here rather than by his side. Is that not a rejection? Is that not a form of abandonment?”

The tears fell in earnest, as he rubbed at his cheeks with a sniff. He let out a shuddered breath, even as his hand knocked at the wall in an odd rhythm while he gathered his thoughts, and looked to his father only to see him staring off into the distance. Thor followed his gaze. He furrowed his brow with a burning sense of curiosity, until he noticed what caught Odin’s full and unbroken interest: Loki. The illusion shimmered and glittered with an unusual instability, but the image of an Asgardian Loki was still relatively recognisable.

He was dressed in full battle attire, as if they were about to march through the Nine Realms, and yet his face was pale and contorted into an odd expression, while his hands opened and clenched over and over with odd little movements. Thor gently pushed past Odin with a muttered apology, as he stumbled over to the illusion of Loki, as he looked up and down his form as if he could find any sign of injury of illness. He even bore a flat stomach. Thor asked:

“How long have you been here, Loki?”

“Long enough,” muttered Loki.

Loki winced and let loose a long exhale of breath. It was like watching him try to blow into a balloon or a percussion instrument, yet his eyes screwed shut and his body swayed, and – out of sheer instinct – Thor reached out to help balance him. Both hands fell through the illusion. A low laugh escaped Loki who hunched forward with one hand on his flat stomach, even as he panted for breath and looked up with eyes now red and the corners cracked with blue. The illusion was breaking beyond his control, as Loki choked out in a low whine:

“I asked Sif to bring you here.”

“The healers told me that you were in good care,” explained Thor. “Eir forbade me entry when I tried to gain entrance, while Father restrained me and told me that the delivery room was no place for a –” Thor winced and pursed his lips “– for a prince.”

“No, he – he said it was no place for a _man_ , did he not?”

“Loki, I will fight the world if you require it of me.”

Thor watched as Loki turned blue before his vision. The stomach expanded while the depths of his pain became truly visible, and only his battle attire remained to show any last grasp of control, as Loki practically pressed his hands with great force into his abdomen. A low moan was stifled by lips pressed together, as he hissed and closed his eyes with a nod of his head, and Thor could only let his hands hover a few inches from the illusion, so that he could feel the spark of the _seiðr_ against his skin. Thor leaned close and asked in a whisper:

“Do you require it from me?”

Tears ran over Loki’s cheeks, as he reached with a trembling hand. The illusion fell through Thor’s arm, while the visage shimmered and trembled, and – as his stomach expanded under Thor’s vision – Odin came forward and placed a hand on Thor’s shoulder, while he raised another to provide _seiðr_ to Loki in hopes of stabilising the spell. The image was momentarily kept visible, even as Thor heard a loud cry from the infirmary beyond. Loki panted for breath in his illusion form, unable to produce words, until the cry stopped and he croaked:

“Mother constantly clings to me. Helblindi chatters endlessly to me.”

“And you do not want or need such fuss?”

“I need _you_ , Thor,” said Loki. “I need someone that knows to leave me be once I have reached my limit, but that will not be hurt and offended by my insults, and – honestly – I know how squeamish you are about such bodily functions . . . if – if I am to endure this, you could at least endure the sight of that blasted child that is beginning to crown.”

“He is crowning? Surely then the worst part is over, Loki?”

“Why do you not come see for yourself?”

Loki cast him a cold eye with a curled lip. The air grew cold as his entire demeanour changed, until Loki panted for breath and suddenly curled forward with hands clawing at his stomach, and an agonised scream ripped through the air as it pierced through the doors. Thor hissed with a pain in his ears, as the illusion of Loki drifted out of sight and the illusion failed completely to maintain itself. He was gone. Thor clenched at his fists.

He marched towards the doors, where he stood with hand poised on the handle, and – as he closed his eyes for a brief moment – he realised all confidence had fled from him . . . he was afraid for the first time since he witnessed Jane on her deathbed . . . the idea of seeing Loki in such agony broke his heart within his chest. Thor bit his lip until he tasted the iron that filled his mouth, as Odin came to stand beside him and clapped a hand on his back with a sad sigh. He could practically see Odin staring him down from the corner of his eyes. Thor asked:

“Do you truly glare at me for wanting to see Loki?”

“You think of pain only as a warrior.” Odin smiled and shook his head. “Did you know your mother threw a vase at my head when I said the pain could not possibly be so bad? It was the first and only time I ever heard her curse . . . I know my son, Thor. Be wary when you enter that delivery room, lest he turn you from a man into a eunuch. Keep your distance.”

Thor rolled his eyes and threw open the doors. The words stung like an insult, as if Loki – even in his most vulnerable state – were not to be trusted, and Thor slammed shut the doors behind him with such force that the hinges rattled and the wood cracked. A burst of wind caught his cape with the heavy blow, while he clenched and unclenched his fists at his side in an attempt to control the rage and fear that coursed through him in equal measure.

The infirmary was alive with hustle-and-bustle, as healers ran about the main room with intense urgency and frantic panic, and – as doors opened and closed on either sides of the room – various pieces of medical equipment were whisked from place to place. Thor struggled to process the busyness. He was jostled by healers in uniforms, while others scoffed at him or chastised him as if he were no more a boy than a prince, and the stench of disinfectants clung to the air enough to bring about a bout of nausea as he swayed. 

Eir appeared in a far doorway with paled cheeks. A scream echoed out from behind her, and – even before she could open her mouth to object – he ran toward her and gently tried to push her to one side in his attempt to reach Loki . . . a few words barely entered his consciousness . . . _‘you cannot be here’, ‘this is no place for a father’, ‘the patient will not wish to be seen in such an undignified state’_. . . his heart raced and his mouth ran dry. He fought for breath, as he applied force and pushed his way beyond. He grew light-headed.

Thor broke into the delivery room with a sigh, even as Eir chased after him with loud complaints and called forth for healers to escort him out, but a broken and mumbled cry from across the room silenced her . . . _‘I want him to stay’ . . ._ Loki. Thor struggled to hold back the tears as he cast his eyes across the delivery room, where he nearly collapsed to his knees with the rush of adrenaline and endorphins, and he laughed through his relief.

“Loki, I am so glad to see you,” whispered Thor.

A large pool was cast centre of the room. It was likely for the ‘water births’ mentioned to him by Sif when Loki debated delivery methods so many weeks back, but chunks of ice filled it from the tiled bottom to the polish rim, and it sloshed with the awkward sound of ice slowly melting under the temperature of the environment. Loki rested his head on his forearms, as his body lay submerged beneath the ice. He was clad only in a sleeveless green tunic.

A heavy sweat soaked his skin, while his pupils were uneven and eyes half-lidded. He struggled to focus on Thor, as he gasped for breath and his head lolled on his arms, and – just behind him in the waters – a Jotun healer sat crouched on all four behind him, with hands in a place that brought an instinctive jealousy and possessiveness from Thor. It was an irrational emotion, but Thor still wished it were a female healer tending to Loki. He wished that their people could withstand the cold of the ice. Loki mewled and reached out toward him.

“Thor? Please . . . closer . . .”

Thor sniffed and stumbled towards him. Frigga knelt on a soft cushion to his right side, where she ran her hands through wet hair and hummed an old tune, and Helblindi sat on a stool just opposite Loki where he waved with a lazy hand towards Thor, even as he made a ‘no’ gesture with his hand and grimace as he nodded towards Loki. Thor ignored him. He made a loud and repetitive sound, as if trying to communicate ‘no’, while Asgardian healers swapped advice and order with the Jotun healer . . . _pulses taken, temperatures checked_. . .  

There was a spot just to his left. Thor knelt down. Loki mewled again in a high-pitched keen, as his lip trembled and eyes watered, and he choked out a broken ‘c-closer’ and reached out with a blue hand that trembled in the air, until Thor – with a staggered breath – forced a smile and came close enough that his knee touched on Loki’s forehead. Loki smiled. It was a beautiful yet devilish expression, until clawed hands shot towards Thor’s testicles.

A terrible pain tore through Thor, as he hunched over and dropped a hand by Loki’s head for balance, and – as he gasped and panted and choked on the air – Loki simply tightened his grip until Thor saw stars and his vision turned white . . . the pain was unbearable . . . every nerve was lit with a white-hot intensity, while all other sensations left him. He could vaguely hear Helblindi laughing from his spot against the wall, while Frigga pleaded with Loki to cease his torture of Thor, who was too close to throwing up from agonising pain.

“L-Loki, that – that hurts – s-stop –”

“Oh, does that hurt?” Loki asked. “Surely, the worst part is over?”

Loki tightened his grip, as his lip curled in memory of Thor’s words. Thor was unable to endure any further. He was on the verge of fainting . . . _head light, pain intense_. . . Thor felt the agony rise and rise, until his vision went black and his mind was consumed, but then – with a loud scream – Loki let go and dipped underneath the ice waters. Thor collapsed onto his side and shot down his hands to his groin, as the world came back into vision and he massaged his parts to regain some sensations, and he panted for breath with a relieved sigh.

The pain lingered like a bad bruise, even as he snatched at the ice from the bath and placed it directly on his groin, and Loki re-emerged with loud sobs and shakes of his head, as he muttered out ‘I can’t’ in a continuous chant. Frigga rubbed at his lower back and pressed kisses to his head, while Helblindi chuckled and tossed Thor a cushion for his head. It was taken with a great sense of gratitude, as Thor continued to lie on the tiled floor.

“I take back my comment,” muttered Thor.

“Good, because this is _ten-times_ more painful that what I dealt to you, Thor!” Loki let out a long growl and clawed at the tiles. “You – _You_ – did this to me, you bastard! I _swear_ that I will find a spell to make you able to carry a child, _just_ so that I can impregnate you and force this torture upon you in revenge for this very day. I will never forgive you!”

“Well, I certainly won’t be able to impregnate _you_ after this.”

“Oh, be quiet, you damned oaf! If you aren’t castrated now, you will _certainly_ be so if you _ever_ think about putting your seed within ten feet of me ever again! Do you know what this is like? _Do you_? If this foetus-like creature has ruined my body, I _swear_ I shall –”

Loki stopped with a high-pitched scream.

He clawed at the tiles until a nail broke from finger. A healer raced across the room, as they rolled Thor over for better access, and healing stones were applied to the wound in hopes of stemming the blood and growing the nail. Thor crawled to the other side of Loki. Frigga looked to him with tear-streaked cheeks, while Loki wept with loud cries of such pain that it pierced his ears and stole his full attention. The Jotun healer behind him timed contractions and told him that it was nearly time to push. Loki choked on saliva, as Thor asked:

“Loki, there must be medicines to ease this pain?”

Loki shook his head, as he leaned forward on his forearms. A line of spit fell from his lips, as he gasped for breath and spat up bile that spilled from his throat, and raised his hand with the broken nail to his eye, before he grew dizzy and slipped underneath the ice, which sloshed around the sides of the pool now mostly pure water. Thor shucked his boots and rolled up his trousers, but the ice was too cold for him to abide. Helblindi winced, as he expressed regret that the water was also too cold for him, and warned for Thor to keep back.

“No,” said Loki. “No medicines.”

“It’s too late for many medicines,” explained Helblindi. “There is an injection we could have delivered into the back, a _marvellous_ contraption that numbs all pain! Still, you know our Loki . . . refused to take the shot, but now it’s too late into labour to be effective.”

“I – I will n-not put – put myself in a position where I-I’m too weak to defend myself from any oncoming threats . . . the injection prevents my m-mobility, t-the gas-and-air weakens me . . . I would – would not have my child taken from me . . . i-if I have to endure this torture, this _hell_. . . I will have something to show for that pain. I will s-stay strong.”

“Neither Helblindi or Mother will take our son from you,” swore Thor.

“Father took me . . . I – I will not risk – I will not risk . . .”

“You need to push now,” said Helblindi.

The healer behind Loki nodded.

Loki shot out his left hand toward Thor, while his right shot toward Frigga, and – with choked sobs and a manta of ‘no’ – he squeezed lightly on their hands and slid almost neck-deep into the cold waters with tears already falling from his red eyes. The healer called forth Eir to supervise, as they began a frantic exchange of information in the Jotun tongue, while Helblindi chided them with cold words and corrected them in Asgardian, before the Jotun healer slid into position and held his hands beneath Loki, as he called out:

“Okay, now _push_!”

Gravity aided in the delivery. Loki let out a devastating scream, as he used all his strength to push, while his hands crushed Thor’s knuckles together until the skin turned pure white and the pain faded into a strange numbness about his joints. Helblindi knelt down to pass ice from a small bowl to Loki, who bit into the small chunks once the scream died from his lips, and he ran a larger chunk over a sweat-clad forehead for a small comfort.

Loki panted for breath and loosened his grip, enough that Frigga slipped her hand from him and gently guided him to hold Helblindi’s instead, and – if he knew what pain he caused her – he remained oblivious in his expression to everything but the oncoming contraction. He swallowed with an audible sound. Another push . . . another . . . Thor lost track of time, although he counted the pushes by the cries from Helblindi on every squeeze of his hand, until the healer let out a loud laugh and smiled at them with a warm grin, as he called out:

“Okay, one last time, Loki! _Push_!”

“I _am_ fucking pushing,” cursed Loki. “To hell with you!”

Loki screamed out and let go of both hands. He slid down into the waters, until they lapped at his chin and his cheeks, and Helblindi moved almost immediately with Thor, as they grabbed at him and pulled him back above the surface. It was heart-breaking to watch him half-lie on his front upon the tiled floor with arms splayed outward and eyes half-closed, but the healer held his hands around a clear head of black hair in bloodied water . . . black hair, blue skin . . . their son was nearly out . . . nearly with them. Thor begged through loud and joyful sobs:

“Just one last push? Please.”

A loud hiss of breath escaped Loki’s lips. Thor noticed a barely imperceptible nod, as Loki licked at dry lips with panted breath, and – as Helblindi placed ice to his mouth for a momentary comfort – the healer signalled to them a countdown with one hand. The seconds felt like an eternity. Loki visibly tensed as he sensed the oncoming contraction, while his hands returned to clawing at the tiles with muttered sobs, and soon the contraction came.

Loki gave one final push. The scream was unlike any other. It was borne from exhaustion and desperation, so that it broke and trembled and finally died away into a wail and finally a stifled cry of fatigue . . . laughter from the healer . . . a high-pitched cry from a new source . . . intermittent, confused, painless . . . Loki furrowed his brow in confusion, as he strove to lift his head to see the source. Thor wept to see his baby being lifted by the healer, as Eir immediately crouched to quickly help clearly his airways and cut his umbilical cord.

 _A son was born._  

The boy looked so much like Thor, down to the last detail, but his hair was jet-black and his skin the deepest shade of blue, and his eyes . . . barely open, always closing . . . were a greenish-blue that complemented his complexion. It was difficult to process events. Thor was in complete awe of the small boy, enough that he failed to notice those around him. Frigga was tugging at Loki’s tunic to expose his chest, as she muttered about ‘skin-to-skin’ contact, while Eir came around in an attempt to slide the boy into Loki’s arms.

Thor was not surprised by the curl of Loki’s lip. He pushed at the baby and pulled away, as he yanked his wet tunic back up to cover his shoulders, and – looking at the liquids on his hand – he struggled to wipe it away with a frustrated and tired moan. Helblindi laughed, but Eir and Frigga could only share a look of concern . . . _eyes locked as silent words were exchanged_. . . no more words were said, as Eir stood and walked away with boy in arms.

“No,” cried Loki. “No! Don’t let them take him.”

“It’s okay,” swore Thor. “They just need to check him over.”

“ _Do not let them take Narfi from me_!”

Thor rapidly blinked. Eir stood frozen in the doorway, poised to hand the newborn to an attendant, but already Loki struggled to climb out of the pool, even as bloodied and weakened thighs slid on the tiles and bruised fingers struggled to make purchase, as he chanted ‘no’ over and over and over. It took all of Helblindi’s strength to hold him in place, as the healer strove to tend to him. Thor simply sat in shock. They had not discussed baby names, but somehow the name made everything all the more real. Thor signalled to Eir and ordered:

“Please, tend to Narfi within our sight.”

Loki at once relaxed, even as Eir let out a low hiss of breath. A sterile mat was placed beside the pool, as Eir carefully placed the baby down and called forth the attendant, and together they worked on cleaning the child and tending to its needs . . . _his_ needs . . . _Narfi’s_ needs. It proved a beautiful sight, enough that Loki – seeing the fluids washed away from Narfi’s body – slowly edge his way ever closer to their son and knelt just a few inches from him.

There was nothing but awe in his expression. Loki reached out to one cheek, only to yank his hand quickly away at the sight of blood, and – as the two women shared another look of concern – Loki furrowed his brow and reached for the other now clean cheek. He brushed against it with the back of his finger, bringing forth what looked like a yawn from Narfi, and Loki laughed in response and stroked again with a bright smile, as his other hand came up to offer a finger to Narfi. Narfi struggle to hold it, but he did smack against the digit.

“I thought I would resent him,” whispered Loki.

Eir finally smiled, as Loki fussed about Narfi. He touched and prodded and stroked at every inch of skin, as if he were memorising every last detail, and Thor wept as he listened to Loki’s every stray observation . . . _‘his markings are different to mine’, ‘he has the same birthmark as you on his calf’, ‘I believe he has the same curls to his hair as me’ . . ._ Thor sat cross-legged beside them. He stroked at Narfi’s hair and longed to hold Loki. Tears fell down his cheeks, as laughed and smiled and tasted them on his lips, and he could only whisper:

“He is beyond beautiful, Loki.”

“He looks much better now he is not covered in bodily fluids,” said Loki. “I must properly wash his hair and find him suitable attire, but I think he is _relatively_ handsome even in such a dirty state. Helblindi bought him traditional Jotun clothes. Mother bought him Asgardian apparel. I think I would rather dress him in something different . . . something just _Narfi_. . .”

“I have some clothes from Earth,” whispered Thor. “It would certainly make Narfi stand out from any other Jotun or Asgardian, while suiting well his form and colouring, and it would likely have the added benefit for you of irking our father. He would despise such a costume.”

“Father will wish to see him . . . am I able to receive visitors?”

“Not yet,” interrupted Frigga. “There is still the issue of the after-birth. It shall be relatively painless to deliver, but the healers will also have to examine you afterward. You may need stitches or a blood transfusion, while you will most certainly need sleep and liquids, and the healers must also assess your mind to see what affect the birth has had upon you.”

“I will not let them take Narfi from you,” swore Thor. “He will be in my arms while you sleep. We will be by your side when you awake. It is true that our friends and family will expect me to showcase Narfi to them, allowing them to hold him and love him, but I will not dare to allow such intimacies while you are unable to be present. _Rest_. You deserve – more than anything – to finally find some peace, Loki. We will not leave you.”

Loki smiled as he rested a cold hand on Narfi. He rested his head beside him, while he pressed a gentle kiss to black hair, but already his eyes were threatening to close and his body barely found the strength to hold itself upright. The healer fussed behind him, doing things that Thor wished he could erase from his mind, while the attendant took away bloodied rags and items beyond recognition, as Eir wrote down various notes about Narfi and constantly checked at his vitals with a warm smile. Loki hummed in contentment and sighed.

“Let Narfi be the last thing I see,” whispered Loki.

He watched Narfi through half-lidded eyes, while Frigga struggled to stand even with Eir’s help, and Helblindi cricked his back and neck with a yawn, although he jumped from foot to foot in a way that made his excitement evident to any casual observer. Thor could see everyone congregate . . . swapping words and asking questions . . . Helblindi even reached toward Narfi and nodded his head towards him, but Thor simply shook his head with a grin.

There would come time for family later, but – for now – Loki needed for Narfi to be his alone. Loki relaxed his muscles and allowed his eyes to close. Thor placed a hand on his head, so he could stroke through sweat-soaked locks and lightly grasp at his neck, and he ran his thumb over the soft line of his jaw. Narfi napped as his breath fell in time with Loki’s every exhale. Frigga sang a familiar tune from their childhood, while Helblindi took pictures from all angles. Thor laughed through tears of joy as he watched his husband and son side-by-side . . .

Finally, they were a family.


	29. Chapter 29

Loki sat upright.

The pillows were cool and soft, but plenty enough to support his back. He struggled to pull himself upright, as his stomach cramped and pulsed in a way Sif described as being similar to ‘menstrual pains’,  and – even without a point of comparison – it was enough to evoke a great sense of sympathy as he trusted her words enough to be true. The green tunic he wore fell to his knees, while his bare arms hung limp at his sides, and a sticky sweat broke over his forehead, even as he panted for breath and let his head roll to the side.

Loki reached out onto the bedside-table. A bowl of ice provided a small comfort, as he snatched out a handful of chunks with a lazy grasp, before he ran them over his cheeks and neck and shoulders. They let loose small rivulets of water, which stained his tunic and his sheets even as he sighed with mild relief. The amulet on his chest never quite helped. It was cool, but was far from _cold_. Loki wondered how Narfi endured the heat.

A loud laugh rang out from the lounge beyond.

Loki glanced to the open doors of the bedroom; Thrúd appeared to be smitten with Narfi, as she relished her first visit with her baby brother, and – as Thor cradled Narfi in his arms with tears already in his eyes – Frigga sat with Thrúd on her lap and gently instructed her on how to behave around an infant . . . _‘do not hit’, ‘be careful of his head’, ‘make sure not to yell’_. It was beautiful to watch her press a kiss to his cheek, but amusing to watch how she grew so bored that she soon pouted and climbed from Frigga’s lap, as she ran about the lounge.

“I forgot how much energy children possess,” said Helblindi.

Helblindi climbed onto the bed beside Loki. He half-reclined with his back on the pillows, as he clasped his hands over his stomach and folded his legs at his ankles, while he dropped the illusion of his Jotun form while alone in the presence of family. Thrúd spotted him from the doorway of the bedroom. Loki almost smiled as blue eyes moved from man to man with a small pout, and it actually drew a laugh from his lips to see how she crossed her arms and lifted her head high, as if mimicking Loki from his more petulant moments.

He heard a loud and somewhat confused ‘ _two Lo, two’_ , as Frigga struggled to run after her and scoop her up into the air with a loud sigh and a sincere smile, and Helblindi simply waved despite his natural form bearing such a striking resemblance to Loki. Loki scoffed and rolled his eyes, which brought a loud squeal from Thrúd who screamed out ‘ _that lo, that one_ ’, before Frigga quickly turned her back to hide barely concealed laughter.

“I am here, Thrúd,” mumbled Loki.

Thrúd squealed and laughed again, as she fought to get down from Frigga’s arms. Loki sighed and raised a hand to Frigga, but it was Thor who saw from the sofa and nodded to Frigga to get her attention, and soon – as she turned back again to gaze at her recovering son – she allowed Thrúd to drop onto the floor and run towards the king-sized bed. It took a long few minutes for Thrúd to climb upward, requiring help from Frigga who pressed a kiss to blonde hair when she finally reached her goal, and suddenly Thrúd was crawling to his side.

“I am fine should she wish to stay,” said Loki.

He draped an arm around her, even as she cuddled against his side with a yawn, and tiny hands grasped at his tunic as she closed her eyes and rested her head on his lap, while Helblindi cooed over her and stroked at her hair. Thrúd soon slowed her breathing, clearly exhausted from the vast expanse of excitement from earlier, and Helblindi patted her lightly on the head and fell back again, as Frigga said in a firm yet gentle voice:

“You are supposed to rest on confinement, my son.”

“I have spent two days in that infirmary,” said Loki. “I have another six weeks on total bed-rest, unable to so much as lift a plate without someone offering to spoon-feed me my meal, and I half-anticipate half-chewed food to soon arrive as mastication be deemed too much an effort. Forgive me if I desire to spend time with my step-daughter. I will be fine.”

“Very well, but bear in mind it _is_ traditional to spend two weeks in the infirmary. You were allowed out on the strict condition of _rest_. . . do not climb out of bed without support from Helblindi, and do not allow Thrúd to climb over you or pull at you, and be sure to drink –”

“I am _fine_ , Mother. I am a father now, too old to be babied by another.”

“You will _never_ be too old to be babied by your mother.”

Frigga cast him a stern look with a warm smile. An order was whispered to Helblindi to make sure Loki remained hydrated and well-rested, before she pulled the lounge doors mostly closed and left it ajar just enough to hear any cries or calls for help, and soon her footsteps could be heard pattering away toward Thor and Narfi, as she settled down and engaged in a friendly conversation that caused her voice to echo out through the rooms. Loki sighed and stroked at Thrúd’s hair, as Thrúd murmured and fidgeted in her sleep.

“Thrúd desires constant activity,” observed Loki.

“Our nephew has yet to be born, but he may be the same.” Helblindi pouted. “I look forward to watching him play with his cousins, but a part of me fears that he’ll grow to be like Thrúd or my godson Fannar, especially the way he kicks at our brother-in-law. Býleistr has named him Steinn, but what kind of name is that? It hardly fits with the aesthetics of our family.”

“If Býleistr has provided you with an heir, surely mine is not needed?” Loki continued to stroke at Thrúd’s hair with a smile. “If I am willing to allow Narfi a month each year on Jotunheim, so as to bond with you and learn the culture, surely that would be enough?”

“Loki, our father always intended for _you_ to be his heir apparent. You were not the first-born, but you were the heir he _chose_ to rule our realm, as such it would do a dishonour to his memory to allow for any other child to rule in place of your child . . . it should be your line that continues our monarchy, not that of Býleistr or any other.”

“Do you realise your motive changes from moment to moment?” Loki rolled his eyes. “I do suppose that it forces ties between our realms, which is something Odin always aspired, and – like with you – I must say I always doubted his intentions in taking me . . . I remember he once told me his intention was to unite our two realms. I suppose he achieved his goal in that respect, at the least. I only wish that either of you could be honest with your motivations.”

Helblindi simply hummed in response. The furs he wore were Jotun in style, with vast expanses on his chest and abdomen on clear display, but the furred cape he wore – that fell to his ankles and provided him with a makeshift blanket to lie upon – was clearly more practical in its intent. He raised a white hand into the air, as if to reach for the ceiling, and smiled as he let it drop to his side with a loud sigh. Loki noticed a long scar across his palm, along with a thick scar low on his stomach not far above his groin. They both looked painful.

“You have never been honest, either,” said Helblindi.

A loud cry echoed out from the lounge; Loki winced and looked to Thrúd, as he carefully placed his hands over her ears and sang an old tune under his breath, but luckily she barely stirred with the sound and remained asleep. Loki rolled his eyes as he watched Thor pace back-and-forth through the crack in the door, as he bounced Narfi in his arms even as he continued to scream, and Helblindi quirked an eyebrow and asked in a whisper:

“How have you been coping with Narfi?”

Loki held tight to Thrúd and flinched. The sudden movement brought a murmur to her lips, as she cuddled closer and lightly slapped at his leg as if to say ‘lie still’, and he laughed under his breath before he kissed at his fingers and pressed them to her forehead. Helblindi stretched out before him with an arch of his back and a yawn, but every time Narfi cried he would jolt upright and look to Loki, before he would visibly fuss and fidget in a manner that could put Thrúd to shame. Loki bit into his lip and muttered back:

“It has only been two days so far.”

“So no difficulties?”

“A few,” mumbled Loki. “I will confess that I have experienced difficulties in bonding with Narfi . . . he reminds me too much of all I have sacrificed with this _ergi_ status, even when that was but a one-time act borne from necessity, and Thor – who has _willingly_ endured such acts on _dozens_ of occasions – has escaped the status that has stubbornly clung to me.”

“That hardly seems Narfi’s fault, Brother.”

“No, but he also looks so Jotun in turn. I look to him and I fear the inevitable conversations . . . I fear he shall hate me, I fear he shall leave me . . . it is difficult to grow attached when I know he could so easily walk into Jotunheim to never return.”

Helblindi reached out a hand to Loki. He touched at his shoulder with a warm hold; it was unbearable to endure such heat so soon from the birth, enough that Loki shirked away with a hiss of discomfort, and Helblindi pulled back with a muttered apology, as he snatched at the ice from the bowl and brought it to Loki’s shoulder. The cold touch had him instantly collapsing back against the pillows, as he half-closed his eyes and sighed in relief, and Helblindi smiled as he massaged at his blue skin with ice melting in his hand.

The healers assured him the aversion to heat would soon end, but that the desire for cold was a mere physiological response to help facilitate in bonding with his son, as he sought for Narfi against his flesh for a reprieve from the warmth, but it was one more resentment. Thor was forced to lie either on the ottoman or the sofa, lest his touch only increase the fever in Loki, and the distance was just as unbearable. Helblindi reached back for more ice.

“You’ll grow to love him,” said Helblindi.

“I already love him, which is why I am so afraid.” Loki let out a staggered breath. “In any case, you appear to bond well with my son. Thor tells me that you spent hours with him in your arms, never once tiring or growing bored, and I do appreciate your affection for him.”

“I have always wanted a child.” Helblindi blinked and feigned a smile. “I actually fell pregnant once, but . . . I was unable to keep the child. It may be why I so adore that friend of yours, as it’s so _rare_ to find someone that’s experienced that degree of separation, and it may be why I cling so strongly to the idea of an heir in Narfi. I need someone to love.”

“You could always find love again,” said Loki.

“I could say the same of you, Loki. We both know this marriage was arranged and unwanted, but that was only required to secure your place on Asgard as you provided Jotunheim with an heir, and now that heir is provided . . . you have our full pardon. There is no risk that you shall be taken away from your home, while you could gain absolute freedom . . .

“If you choose to stay married to Thor, I would understand that choice. It’s easy to believe that you’re in love. Still, do not think you _have_ to remain married to him, because you _do_ have a choice in this matter, I promise you! Is this life what you really want?”

Loki smiled as the ice turned to water on his skin. It ran in rivulets down his back, soaking the sheets as he leaned forward and hunched over Thrúd, and – as his now wet tunic clung to his skin – a cool draught through the open door caught at the cool water. Helblindi pulled back his hand and reached for the bowl, as he handed it gently to Loki and allowed Loki to run the ice over his face and neck with murmurs of contentment. Thrúd stirred.

It caught Loki’s full attention, as he looked down to Thrúd. He saw how she shivered, even as he fumbled around for a blanket and brought it close to her chin as possible, while he strove to keep the thick fabric from his flesh. Thrúd bore a pout that brought a strong resemblance to Jane, as if Jane lived on through her small form, and her blonde locks fell before her face much as they would do with Thor as he slept, so that one strand would move in and out with her every breath. Loki stroked at her cheek with tears in his eyes, as he whispered:

“What would happen to Thrúd?”

Narfi cried out from the room beyond. Helblindi was at once on his feet, unable to endure hearing the cries and being unable to comfort him, and quickly darted towards the door to peek through into the lounge beyond, where – with mouth open in question – he was silenced by some gesture or word and walked back towards the bed with shoulders hunched. Loki saw the unconditional love and smiled, even as he ran his hands through Thrúd’s hair in repetitive and constant pattern with hummed sounds. He whispered to Helblindi:

“I could hardly abandon my children.”

“You would have every legal right to Narfi,” admitted Helblindi. “He would be exclusively yours, as Thor already has an heir in Thrúd, but she would equally be exclusively his in turn, although I suspect an amicable break-up could lead to visitation on both sides. Is that the only reason why you would say ‘no’? You don’t wish to leave your step-daughter?”

“I look to her and I realise what I have failed to realise all along.” Loki touched her cheek with a smile. “I cannot bear to part from her. Is this what my Mother felt when we met? I sometimes feel that she must endure this same love . . . a child not biologically hers, but a bond and affection so deep that it matches that of any other potential child. I never before thought such a love possible, but it makes me want to thank my mother . . . apologise . . .

“I would lash out as a teenager or when upset. I underestimated the depths of her love. I believed she would love me less when it was revealed I biologically belonged to another. It embarrasses me to think of admitting such failures of my youth, but – now that I know better – I _need_ for her to know that I appreciated all she did for me. I love her as I love Thrúd.”

“The love of a parent is the purest form of love,” said Helblindi.

“That is why I feel so _guilty_. I love Narfi, more than I thought I would, but I sometimes fear that I resent him for what is beyond his control . . . my body aches, my nipples leak, my anus bleeds . . . I am judged for refusing to breast-feed, just as I am judged for not wanting him by my side at every waking moment. Have I failed him as a parent already?”

Helblindi sighed and climbed beside Loki. He slapped a hand on Loki’s back, knocking him forward just enough to disturb Thrúd, and – as she awoke with a wide yawn – Loki laughed to see tiny hands rubbing at blue eyes with a loud murmur. It was easy to believe that he could do right by her, but he was not her father and his duties were limited, and that was indeed the difference . . . Narfi was in his complete control. He winced and blinked back tears, as he cast his eye to the door where Narfi finally fell quiet. Loki was not needed.

“There is no right or wrong way to parent, Loki,” said Helblindi. “No one expects for Thrúd to constantly be at your side, right? In fact, they say you’ve gone _beyond_ what is expected when you do spend such time with her or bond with her or attend to her in place of Thor! You said it yourself that biology is _not_ what makes a parent, so . . . well . . . why the different standard? You are treating Narfi no different from Thrúd. Your love is the same.”

“Then why does everyone _obsess_ over my every action? Why is it never enough? I want to bond with my son and love my son, but if I am distant then they talk about ‘post-partum depression’ and if I am too close they tease I am a ‘mother hen’! I am being told how I should hold him, what is the best routine for him, and meanwhile no one asks about _me_!

“Am I now defined by my son? Have I sacrificed my identity? I know it is not his fault, but I look to him and I see how everyone adores _him_ and I – I –!” Loki winced. “I know it is early days, but what if this is the foundation of my life to come? What if this is it?”

“Is that why you considered my offer to annul?”

“I do love Thor more than anything . . .”

Helblindi cast an obvious glance to Thrúd. Loki followed his gaze, only to see her with tears in her eyes and a trembling lip, and – forcing an exaggerated smile – he coaxed her to stand and wrapped his arms around her small frame, as he delivered her with dozens and dozens of kisses until she burst out in absolute laughter. A light smack to her buttocks and a nod to the door had her crawling along and dropping onto the floor, before she peeked over the end of the bed to double-check for permission and ran back into the lounge. Helblindi whispered:

“You also desire your freedom.”

Loki collapsed back against the pillows, as he shrugged and gazed up at the ceiling, and he listened as Thrúd squealed and babbled aimlessly to Frigga, before running about with great energy and climbing over the furniture with waves at the now fully open door. He knew no distance could ever bring forth his freedom, but – equally – the chains of being a ‘father’ were far more enslaving than house-arrest could ever achieve. Helblindi reached out and placed a hand on the wet fabric of his tunic, as he stroked at his back.

“You are Loki Laufeyson,” said Helblindi.

“Is that who I am? I am shocked.”

“You are sarcastic,” continued Helblindi. “You are ruthless. You constantly seek validation from external sources, all the while failing to see what is before you, and you are the husband of Thor and the son of Frigga. . . you bore Narfi and raise Thrúd. . . you are prince consort to one realm, but royal prince to another. You have the intelligence of Laufey. You have the quick wit of Helblindi. You have the strength of Býleistr. You are _you_ and you alone.

“There have been times I wanted to strangle you. There have been times where I have been envious of Thor. Still, regardless of my feelings, I have _always_ been proud to call you my brother. _You are my brother, Loki_. I will be here when you wish to talk, just as I shall be here when you need help with your children. You will always be welcome on Jotunheim, too.

“You have options, Loki. You are not alone.”

The tears finally broke from Loki. He wept with a warm smile, as they ran down his cheeks and onto his lips, and – even as he tasted nothing but their salt – he laughed and looked to Helblindi, only to see green eyes gazing back with warmth. There was closure in unconditional love. Loki reached behind him and awkwardly grabbed at Helblindi’s hand, bringing it between them and entwining their fingers. The blue mixed well with white, as if gave him an anchor to the moment, and he squeezed as he said with a smile:

“Thank you, Brother.”

Thor appeared in the doorway; Narfi lay upright against his chest, with head against his heart, while his large hands supported his neck and buttocks, and – as he made to enter – Loki caught sight of the flush to his cheeks and pursing of his lips. Loki shook his head. Thor glanced between them, even as his eyes lingered on the tears and clear distress, until Helblindi stood with a sigh and made a dramatic show of letting go of Loki’s hand. Loki laughed and quirked an eyebrow at Helblindi, who said with a sincere whisper:

“I am sorry for paying Narfi more attention.”

“You were excited,” said Loki. “I can understand that emotion. I will admit that I have not been able to tear my eyes away from him, so that between his breaths I live in terror that the next one shall not come, and I so often cry in relief when the next breath follows.”

“Do you know what I think, Loki? You fear you shall not love him enough, because you love him _so much_ that it never feels enough! He is an angel. He is perfection. I would imagine you desire to give him all he deserves, which is impossible when you believe he deserves the whole universe on a platter, and so you berate yourself. Trust me, you’re giving him plenty.”

“Is love enough? Is that enough when I could give him more?”

“Only _you_ can give him the love he needs. It’s enough.”

Helblindi stepped back; Thor walked around the bed, as he knitted his eyebrows together and jerked his head to Loki in the silent question whether everything was okay, and Loki with a half-smile and shrug answered in equal silence a simple ‘yes’. Thor sagged in relief and climbed onto the bed beside him, as he gently slid Narfi into his arms, and Loki – with a loud sigh of relief – cradled the cool child and buried his face into the crook of his neck.

He vaguely saw Helblindi reaching out as if to take Narfi, before yanking back his hands with a deep blush, and Thrúd was already running into the room as she struggled to climb onto  he bed, before being helped by Frigga and racing to Loki’s side to cuddle against him. He struggled to wrap an arm around her, as he also tried to hold Narfi close, and the strange sensation of cold with warmth provided an uncomfortable contrast. Loki looked to Helblindi, who struggled to hold back his desire to be as involved as possible. He whispered out:

“Do you wish to hold him?”

Helblindi shook his head, as he took the bowl from the bed. He slowly walked towards the bedroom doors, ready to find a servant to refill the ice, but stopped and turned back with tears fresh in his eyes as Frigga sat at the edge of the bed. Narfi was so perfectly cold. Loki curled in on him and briefly let go of Thrúd, who cried out and wrapped her arms around him, and there was only a soft laugh from Thor, who reached around to ruffle her hair. A muttered ‘oaf’ was shot out as she quickly attempted to fix her hair with a pout. Helblindi said with a laugh:

“I think Narfi needs his _father_ , Loki.”

Loki barely noticed as Helblindi darted out of the room in search of ice. He failed to notice as Frigga pressed a kiss to his forehead and eased out of the bedroom, as she busied herself tidying the lounge and throwing wide the balcony doors. He even failed to notice as Thrúd climbed over his legs to play with Thor, who let out large roars and descended on her with the ‘tickle monster’, as she laughed hysterically and kicked out. The only thing that existed in those few moments was Narfi . . . _content, fragile, beautiful_. . . no longer discontent.

Narfi was perfect.


	30. Chapter 30

“Thrúd, be careful!”

Thor ran to her side. Thrúd toddled ever faster across the dew-stained lawn, as she laughed loudly at what was perceived as a game, and – finally reaching the small brick wall – she attempted to climb up into the flowerbeds. Tiny hands reached towards tiny berries. The strength she exhibited was admirable, but her balance sent her stumbling back on several attempts to crawl closer, but her hand was only seconds away from contact.

The thorns on the brambles were sharp . . . enough to prick and cut skin. Thor stopped just behind her and bent down to whisk her into the air, and – as he threw her high with a feigned laugh and smile – she squealed in delight and reached for his beard. He laughed as he held her too far to reach, while she fidgeted and fought to tug at his face, but soon she gave up with a huff of breath and shouted ‘oaf’, before he dropped her back onto the grass. Thrúd pouted and folded her arms, until she glanced a little too ‘innocently’ towards the bushes.

Thor reacted just in time. A thrown out hand stopped her from running toward them, while a classic misdirection of ‘look over there’ had her distracted by the sight of Frigga and Sif with arms filled with flowers, and soon she was toddling over to them with outstretched hands, while Helblindi bent low and offered out a trimmed rose to Thrúd. Thor let out a relieved sigh, as he rolled his shoulders and walked towards Loki sat underneath the large oak tree.

“Loki, you must watch our daughter.”

“I did watch her, Thor.”

Loki licked at his finger, as he turned the page of his book. He lay with legs outstretched, while his neatly slicked hair messy at the back from where he leaned against the bark, and his heavy leathers were now perfectly fitted to a frame freed from any extra weight. Narfi lay on a patchwork quilt beside Loki, dressed in loose jeans and a t-shirt that allowed his blue skin to breathe, and yet he was so small that it was difficult to believe he was now eight-weeks old, as he tried to gnaw on his bare foot with low gurgles. Thor came to sit beside them.

He sat cross-legged beside the blanket. Narfi lay between them, as he gave small sneezes every so often at the heavy pollen in the air, and he would reach out toward Thor until he could bear the distance no longer, as he whisked Narfi into his arms and cradled him against his chest with low hums to provide comfort. Thor slid next to Loki, as he sat on the blanket and leaned against the oak tree in turn, and asked in a low and quiet voice:

“Why – pray tell – did she then nearly run into the brambles?”

“You asked if I watched her.” Loki turned another yellowed page. “I watched her crawl at great speed. I watched her distracted by the blueberries. I watched her run straight toward them . . . if I sensed any true danger, I would have intervened, but I doubt a few cuts and scratches _that_ detrimental. It also would have taught a _very_ valuable lesson about curiosity.”

“A toddler cannot reason, Loki! If Thrúd were to scratch herself, there would be no connection made between that pain and the fact she should not have explored alone. There is a difference between ‘tough love’ and ‘neglect’. Next time, intervene!”

“Is there anything else you would have me do, _Master_?”

“Ah, I see you are in a prickly mood today.”

Thor glared towards Loki, but he simply continued to turn the pages of his book. The contents were Jotun in language, with a few scattered notes discussing the etymology of words that Thor could not pronounce, and Loki would occasionally cross-reference with notes at the back of his book. Thor opened his mouth to probe the cause of his temper, but – before he could utter a word – Thrúd let go of Frigga’s skirts and ran towards them.

Loki gently closed his book and opened wide his arms. Thrúd practically dove against him, ever mindful of his stomach as she failed to recognise that he was now fully healed, and Loki laughed and smothered her with kisses, as she giggled and tried to break his hold. A few seconds later and she slid into his lap, as she held out her hair in awkward fists and said ‘plait’ in a questioning voice, until Loki took a few bands from his pocket and quickly started to work at her hair. Thor furrowed his brow and nudged him with an elbow, as he asked:

“Do you wish to hold Narfi?”

Thrúd babbled endlessly in her child’s tongue, while Loki plaited her hair and explained in patient words what actions he took, and – with soft laughter – he smiled each time she went ‘ah’ in response, even if she failed to fully understand his words. Thor bounced Narfi, even as he slept and chewed on a tiny fist. A line of saliva fell down onto Thor’s shirt, as he pressed a kiss to Narfi’s head and took an offered handkerchief from Loki to wipe at the mess, and he half-smiled to see how Loki never once looked away from Thrúd. Loki answered:

“I am busy with Thrúd right now, Thor.”

“Loki, I know you love Narfi with all your heart.” Thor winced and shook his head. “You awake during the night to tend to him, just as you weep to have him out of your sight, but I think we must talk about how we are to co-parent the children. I disapprove of your ‘separate but equal’ approach. I fear it shall instil resentment in them.”

“I maintain is a fine approach. It allows me to deliver quality time exclusively to both children, without inadvertently giving one more attention than the other, and they both benefit from one-hundred percent of my attention. What is there to fear?”

“Is this _better_ than one parent assigned to one child, as we were parented?” Thor asked. “Father is proud of you, Loki. I can see why; you a good father, enough that it inspired him to treat both our children with exact equality and expectations, and I think that he has finally learnt that equal love is not synonymous with equal displays of affections. I simply wish that you would learn to _share_ your time with both children in turn, so we could bond as a family.”

“I find such ‘family time’ uncomfortable,” admitted Loki.

“A fault not entirely your own.” Thor smiled. “It is only in hindsight that I noticed our family time was not often the best example of a ‘healthy’ family unit. You would always be made to stand or sit by Mother, while I would often be taken aside by Father . . . in arguments, you would be silenced or Mother would be asked to leave . . . in times of great joy, we would sneak away and leave them without a word . . . we never _did_ learn to function as a unit.”

Loki sighed and finished Thrúd’s plait. He patted at her head to signal he was finished, before he handed her an illustrated book and spread his legs so she could sit between, and he ran his long fingers over her head as she attempted to ‘read’ and clapped her hand at the moving pictures she most admired. It was good to see Loki give the children identical treatment, but he disliked how the time was allocated . . . _an hour to Narfi, a trade with another, an hour to Thrúd_. . . it was as if the children could not be with him at the same time.

“You long for a unit,” observed Loki.

A low breeze brushed across the gardens, bringing a low sigh from Loki. He leaned back and closed his red eyes, as the air brought comfort to his cool skin, and Thor felt his eyes water with sheer affection to hear how Narfi murmured in turn, as the two shared in something that only a Jotun would comprehend. Thor held Narfi ever higher, while he carefully supported his neck, and he looked to Thrúd with a smile as he asked in a quiet voice:

“Do you not?”

“I never really thought about it,” admitted Loki. “I always thought of a family as a collection of people, tied together through loyalty and duty, but never as a unit that could be strengthened or weakened through one’s own actions. We never really seemed to –”

“– change?” Thor sighed. “I noticed that, too.”

“No matter how much we argued, we would forgive. No matter how much we got along, we would still have repressed resentments simmering under the surface. It may be better now we are learning to communicate, but a part of me still takes it for granted . . . I do not need to work on our relationships as a unit, as we will always be here with no real change.”

Thor smiled at Loki’s furrowed brow. The desire for change was clear, as he stared off into the distance with finger stroking at blonde locks, but there was equally a desire for the status quo, as he believed that their family was strong enough as things stood. It was true that they made great progress, learning to fix the faults of their parents . . . they both spent equal time with the children, they both communicated with openness and honesty . . . still, something was missing and Thor laughed even through his fear. Loki asked with a sneer:

“Why are you laughing, Thor?”

The breeze intensified. Thor cast his gaze across the garden, where Sif took up basic training exercises with Helblindi, and – each time he feigned ignorance – Sif would only work ever harder and unleash more damage, until he was forced to fight back with full strength. It did not take long until they were locked in a stalemate. Frigga simply smiled and worked her flowers into a bouquet, as she sent glances to Odin on the balcony. Thor whispered:

“You remind me of Father.”

Loki tightened his hands on Thrúd’s hair. A small ‘ouch’ echoed out, before she slapped him on his leg and ran toward Frigga with arms outstretched, and – as she was swept up with flowers falling down around her – she spat her tongue out to Loki with a pout. Thor laughed all the harder, as he bounced Narfi and pressed a kiss to his black hair. He was cold to the touch. It was not the same cool comfort that came from Loki, but an intense sensation like ice that only Loki appeared to abide, and he longed for the months to come when his body temperature would increase. Loki curled his lip and scoffed.

“Why would you say that, Thor?”

“You are both so stubborn,” laughed Thor. “You have both committed grave mistakes in the past, which have led to the deaths of thousands, but you have both grown and evolved and admitted to your faults in a desire to improve and pay recompense. You are both more loved than you will ever realise, but always afraid to love back lest that love be lost.”

“Are you done psychoanalysing me? It is tiresome.”

“He _also_ refused to make any efforts, as he believed there would be no change.”

“Is that the moral here?” Loki rolled his eyes. “I reached out to him and he reached back, so it is proof that we must always try our best and never settle for less? Very well, I will work on ‘family time’ and cease to exclude the children from each other’s allocated time-slot. I simply find it difficult to bond with Narfi, Thor, but with one-on-one time . . .

“If it is just Narfi and me, I can focus on what binds us together. It is easy to see him as an individual with no points of comparison, as I embrace my son and relish in those moments together, but the moment Thrúd joins us or – heaven forbid – any other person -? I start to see that Narfi is not like them. He is a Jotun . . . I can see past that, but I then fear what that will mean for him and whether they will ever see me as anything more than just his bearer.”

Loki rolled his head to his side. He folded his arms over his chest and crossed his legs at the ankle, while he watched Narfi with a half-smile playing on his lips. The sounds of metal-on-metal echoed about the garden, while Sif and Helblindi fought with loud bouts of laughter and muttered jibes, and Thrúd giggled from Frigga’s lips, as a song was sung in hopes of teaching the names of the various flowers. It was a small comfort to see the world continue without their presence, but less so to see how Loki refused to hold Narfi. Thor asked:

“Do you resent our son?”

A low hum escaped Loki’s lips, as he reached out for Narfi. Thor awkwardly slid him into Loki’s hands, constantly fretting lest either lose their grip, and – as warmth returned to his fingers – he allowed his hands to linger and hover over Narfi. Loki cradled him close, so that he could stroke at a blue chin as red eyes gazed up with wonder. A sneeze was followed by a yawn, as Narfi returned to gnawing at his hand, while Loki only laughed at the sight.

“No,” said Loki. “ _No_. I do not resent him.”

“Then why -?”

“Why do I fear us being around other people?” Loki shrugged. “I miss being my own person, Thor. Do you understand what I endure? You are congratulated for having a handsome husband and a healthy sex life, while a son is seen as a sign of your fertility and masculinity, but I am seen simply as a walking incubator and defined by this ‘motherhood’.

“I adore Thrúd, but I am _not_ her father. I feel we have a closer connection because of this, as the world does not try to enforce on me some superficial rules on how I _should_ act, and whenever Father or Sif or _anyone_ is present in my company with Narfi -? They all have ideas about how I should parent our child. They all have criticisms and questions. Why is a father simply a father? Why is a ‘mother’ forced to endure a form of ‘communal’ parenting?”

“You are no mother, Loki.” Thor squeezed at his shoulder. “I have fought every soul that has dared to question your gender identity, just as I will fight to the death anyone who treats you as an _‘ergi’_ or dares to use such a term in my presence, but it is time I made an assertive stance about our desire to parent alone. We must still respect the opinions of others, but I will not allow them to cause you to question your ability to parent. There must be boundaries.

“I will ask that you speak to the healers, as I feel some of these issues run deeper than merely what those around us have said, but – in regards to that matter – I will do all that I can to make you feel more comfortable in the presence of others. In time, we shall work together to eradicate these outdated prejudices. I will make sure Asgard remains your home.”

Loki sighed and pressed his finger to Narfi. A loud yawn was triggered by the touch to his lips, until he took the digit in hand and slobbered at the tip, and Loki simply laughed even as Narfi slowly closed his eyes and fell into a deep slumber. Thor noticed a deep blush that flashed across his blue cheeks, before Loki turned and pressed a chaste kiss to Thor’s lips. It was Thor’s turn to blush. He raised a hand to his lower lip where the cool sensation lingered, as he smiled absently and stared ahead while Loki asked in a low laugh:

“What about _us_ , Thor?”

The question lingered, while Thor slid down the quilt. He rested his head on Loki’s lap, even as Loki rolled his red eyes and carefully rested Narfi on Thor’s chest, where he balanced well once Thor reached up to hold him with callused hands. Loki ran his hands though Thor’s long locks of hair, while humming an old song that complemented the one sang by Frigga, and – as the tunes worked in harmony – Thor patted at Narfi’s back and smiled up at Loki.

“I do not understand the question,” lied Thor.

“We were barely intimate since the rape.” Loki heaved a long sigh. “I believe we made love perhaps twice at most? In the past eight weeks, I have been forbidden from engaging in intercourse of any kind . . . now I am fully healed. I will not lie and say that I do not still suffer some trauma, but I also suffer _immense_ desire. Where do we stand on this front?”

“I have been talking about this extensively to the healers,” admitted Thor. “I do not yet think I am ready for penetrative intercourse, but – I will confess – I think I am ready to return to our sexual relationship. I think we moved too fast before, which did not help our recovery.”

“Hmm, I will admit I had the same concerns.”

“You forced yourself to take me, making sure it was from behind, and I struggled to maintain an erection the entire time . . . I fear we forced ourselves to engage in such acts because we were desperate not to lose what progress we made, and we were only engaging in such acts after we married, already trying to make up for lost time and deepen our intimacies.”

“Is that what we were doing?” Loki smiled and stroked at Thor’s cheek. “In the past thousand years, we were quite content with mouths and hands and toys . . . I sometimes wonder what pressed us into trying for ‘more’, as if sex is not simply _sex_. Is it not making love to simply bring sexual pleasure to one another? Is it not making love to share in intimacies never shared with anyone else and to see each other at their most vulnerable? We never wanted more.”

Thor closed his eyes at the warm sensations. The hands through his hair was a pleasurable comfort, while his hands moved on Narfi’s back with every breath, and the wind caught at the bare skin of his arms and neck as it to coax him into staying awake. Loki was right. They never wanted more in all their years with their on-again-off-again affair, as they contented themselves with intimacy for the sake of intimacy, and a part of him wondered why their sexual life changed so drastically once pressured into marriage. He furrowed his brow.

“It was expected of us,” muttered Thor.

“I never was a fan of the concept of ‘technical’ virginity,” teased Loki. “I also was never a fan of the concept that society ought to have an opinion on what goes on behind closed doors, but – granted – that may be due to my desiring _exclusively_ men. If we were happy how we made love, why did it matter how the world expected us to ‘consummate’?”

“You are probably right,” laughed Thor.

“Let us go back to how things were when we were most happy.” Loki smiled and shrugged. “We have made progress emotionally and with communication, correct? If all that is left is out physical relationship, I think we could easily return to what made us happiest without expectations of anything ‘more’. . . let us let ‘more’ come naturally, if it comes at all.”

“I would be happy with that, Loki. Still, I would like to go slow in that respect. If it pleases you, I thought we might leave the children in the care of Helblindi for the night . . . I would like the opportunity to explore your body as if for the first time . . . no expectations.”

“That sounds doable, but I hope not _quite_ like our first time.”

Thor blushed with a groan, as he tried to turn his head out of sight. It was impossible to bury his face into Loki’s lap or roll away, at least with Narfi lying on his chest with a little puddle of spit already pooling on his shirt, and Loki simply laughed and poked at his cheek with a bony finger, until – as the repetitive motion continued over and over – Thor grew frustrated and slapped at his hand with a loud crack of sound. Loki raised his hands in mock surrender, before he waggled his eyebrows and nodded towards the balconies. Thor spat out:

“If you dare mention how I –”

“– came after just three strokes? Well, it _was_ memorable.”

Thor laughed despite his embarrassment. He looked towards the balconies in turn, as he remembered one of their first times in a warm bed and the element of risk that seemed to increase Loki’s arousal at the time, and how – even as Thor used it as a point of chastisement for centuries after – Loki always found amusement from events. It was a far cry from their very first time . . . _hidden behind a pillar in a disused corridor, Loki with swollen and bruised lips, natural lubricant coating Thor’s finger_. . . Thor said with a blush and a smile:

“It was memorable for all the wrong reasons!”

“And yet it was perfect.”

“Aye, it most certainly was perfect.” Thor smiled with a low hum. “We lacked any pressures from the outside world . . . a lack of trauma, a lack of expectations, a lack of fear . . . simply trust and love and lust. Well, that and the black scarves made of silk . . .”

“No, those were our third time. Remember, it was in Father’s bed?”

“Shit, he nearly caught us, too! What excuse did we make?”

“I believe I claimed that Thrymr had stolen some item of yours,” murmured Loki. “He demanded the hand of Freyja in marriage for its return, which was believable when they were engaged in a forbidden tryst, and the room was a mess because we were searching for female clothing so that you could go in disguise to steal back the item. It . . . backfired.”

“Only as you lied so well,” laughed Thor. “It would not have been as bad, especially as the trip to Jotunheim was our first time in such realms, but Thrymr played to our humiliation and forced us to attend that feast of his lest he tell Father the truth.”

“The dress didn’t fit you, either.”

“Well, I still maintain _you_ should have been the bride.”

“Oh, hush! Do I look as if the colour white would suit my complexion?”

Thor laughed until tears ran down his cheeks. Narfi stirred and murmur at the loud sound, which was made worse when Loki laughed alongside him, and soon Thor – through blurred vision and aching sides – realised that the others were staring at them, as if they were children once again stealing private jokes while homework lay forgotten. Thor ceased his laughter and opened his mouth to speak, but Loki stole all semblance of sound with a single kiss . . .  

It was deeper and more passionate than expected. Thor froze with a blush, as Loki practically contorted to reach Thor and continued to run his fingers though gold locks of hair. The world around them stopped. There was only the kiss, even as Frigga chuckled from across the way and Thrúd squealed out with a clap of her hands, and Thor heard his heart thrum loud in his ears as he panted for breath and licked his lips as Loki pulled away. Loki whispered:

“Do you think there is hope for us?”

Thor laughed again, before he pulled Loki down by his collar. A second kiss followed, albeit clumsy through laughter and muttered complaints, and only a loud cough from Sif brought them apart for air with a few blushes and muffled laughs, as Loki lightly slapped him outside the head and eased Narfi from his chest. Loki cradled him as Thor sat upright and climbed to his feet, while he looked down at father and son lost in a warm embrace, and he smiled to see the sheer love in Loki’s eyes. Thor reached down to stroke at Narfi’s check, as he swore:

“We will be fine, Loki.”


	31. Epilogue

“Do you recognise this place?”

Loki squeezed at Thrúd’s hand. He smiled at how warm her flesh felt against him, as well as how rough her hands felt from so many hours spent playing in the dirt and muck, and – as he looked down to her – he saw her two-and-a-half year old cheeks brown from her attempts to copy various sparring matches in the training yard. There were grazes to her knees and hands, while her skirt was hiked up into her underwear to allow her legs better movement.

It would not be long before Frigga gave up on trying to instil a ‘ladylike’ demeanour, just as Thor would inevitably quit on his attempts to get Thrúd to engage in ‘quiet’ play, and Loki looked forward to the day he would be able to teach her how to fight and scheme and use _seiðr_ to achieve her ends. He knelt down beside her and wiped at her cheeks with a handkerchief, while she slapped at his hands with a sigh and tried to pull away, and he could only laugh when those lips pressed into a pout and she jabbed her hands onto her hips.

“What is your aversion to cleanliness?”

“I want play,” said Thrúd. “No stay clean. Boring!”

“Well, that’s certainly a fair point.” Loki returned the handkerchief to his pocket. “I was very much the same at your age, Thrúd. They tell me I would constantly crawl and explore, only ever staying still so long as my mind was occupied, while your father preferred to obsessively train and hunt, and he was always happy to just _lounge_ when given free time.”

Loki thought back to their teenage years. It was easy to remember Thor crawling into bed in the wee hours just before sunrise, before he slept all day and trained all evening, until Odin was forced to assign a personal tutor to ensure a proper schedule. Loki would always take those quiet moments to explore every crook and cranny of the palace, until he uncovered new pathways and memorised the guards’ routines, and happily mastered his _seiðr_ in the process, until the knowledge accumulated by curiosity became more useful for its practise.

He lifted Thrúd high into his arms, as he stood before the statue. The marble was carved into an almost perfect rendition of Jane’s likeness, with her arms outstretched and two children at her Asgardian skirts, and it took pride-of-place in the large alcove of the garden wall. A brief inscription lay on a golden plaque on the large plinth: _‘to all mothers lost, to all children gained’_. Loki pressed a kiss to Thrúd’s forehead with a heavy sigh.

It was true to Odin’s prejudices that a memorial would only be erected under the guise of a generic one to all Asgardian mothers, but Thrúd would always know the truth . . . Jane would watch over her always and wait for her in the beyond . . . Thrúd stared in wonder and reached toward the statue with grasping hands. Loki leaned close and allowed Thrúd to hold onto the outstretched marble hands, as she ran her fingers over the stone and tested its strength, until Loki stepped back and held her close against his chest. He whispered into her ear:

“This is how we remember your mother.”

“My momma?”

“Yes, my love,” said Loki. “I swore I would never lie to you, Thrúd. My parents once lied to me and it broke my heart, but I know that your mother would march down from Valhalla itself to assault me for any tears I bring to your eyes.” Loki smiled kissed her again. “I will always be honest with you and I will always love you. You are a daughter to me.”

“You Papa,” said Thrúd. “She Momma?”

“Yes, Thrúd. Your Daddy once loved your Momma more than anything, which is why they created you and loved you just as much, but then your Momma became sick. We were all very sad. Your Momma had to go to Valhalla, which made her sad too, but she waits there and watches over you and smiles whenever you smile. Your Momma loves you.

“Your Momma gave me to you, because she knew I would love you _just_ as much as a mother or a father, and she wanted you to never be without her love, so I give you all the love that she cannot . . . hugs and kisses and smiles . . . I can never replace her, but I do hope that I can make you just as happy in life. This statue is for you, Thrúd. If you ever feel sad or angry or confused, you can come here and talk to your Momma, and she will listen to you.”

Thrúd clapped her hands with a loud yawn. Loki laughed and dropped her to the ground, where – with the quick patter of feet – she ran away from the marble tiles of the alcove and straight back onto the freshly manicured lawn, where Thor stood just to the side with a smile breaking over his lips and bringing tears to his eyes. Thrúd looked up to him. A pause and a huff of breath followed, before she turned her eyes to a sleeping Narfi and spat out her tongue, and suddenly she was back in the gardens playing with her toy sword. Thor chirped out:  

“That was a beautiful story, Husband.”

Thor struggled to climb the step to the alcove; the large swell to his stomach threw off his balance, while preventing sight of his feet, and Loki was forced to come to his side, as he took a free arm and helped him towards the bench just opposite the statue. Thor dropped down and panted for breath, while Loki slid their one-year old son from his arms. Narfi squealed in delight and immediately started to pull at Loki’s long locks of hair.

It brought a series of ‘ouch’ from his lips, which only made Thor laugh until he was forced to bend forward and clutch at his stomach with tears in his eyes, and Loki dropped beside him and carefully pried Narfi’s hands from his hair, while Narfi babbled aimlessly in the innocent voice of a babe first finding his letters. Thor ran his hands over his stomach. Loki cast his eyes to him with a warm smile, as he watched the digits running over skin stretched to breaking point, only to curse at the momentary distraction as Narfi yanked at his hair again.

“You are supposed to be on bed-rest, Thor,” hissed Loki.

“I grew bored,” laughed Thor. “I knew what to expect with these bodily changes, and I am glad my Jotun blood aided with your _seiðr_ and our technology to help me conceive, but I never expected the difficulties that would arise from the judgement of others. How did you abide such comments? I am their prince, but they dare to whisper ‘princess’.”

“Oh? Why – pray tell – would ‘princess’ be an insult?”

“It is what they _mean_ by the word, Loki. I know that Sif has done a great deal to challenge people’s prejudices about women, but we have barely made progress in changing people’s attitudes towards those that may receive during intercourse. Father may have outlawed their insults, but he cannot outlaw their thoughts. I thought that my pregnancy might –”

“– change their minds?” Loki scoffed. “You said you wanted another child. I accepted under the condition that I was not to carry, but I _never_ said that you must be the one to bear the burden! We could easily have used a surrogate, but now you insist on complaining.”

“I thought they would cease to think less of you once they saw that I was willing to assume the role with no coercion. After all, how can one be the ‘woman’ of a couple when both have assumed the so-called ‘feminine’ role?” Thor shrugged with a smile. “I believe many are reassessing their beliefs, as they realise such roles are not fixed, but it will take time before they realise that our private acts do not define our public persons. I keep faith.”

Loki rolled his eyes and shook his head. He carefully lowered Narfi to the ground, but – rather than run toward Thrúd – he appeared to content his mind by crawling toward the statue and running his hands over the runes on the plaque, as he babbled strange sounds that made it seem as if he sought to emulate Helblindi or Frigga. Loki allowed a smile to cross his lips, as he reached across the bench to Thor and took his hand. The touch was light.

It was a great reassurance to feel their fingers entwine, as a cool breeze picked up across the gardens, and Loki brought the back of his hand to Thor’s cheek, so he could gently turn his face and look deep into blue eyes that were still cloudy with tears of pure bliss. They remained lost in the moment while Narfi grew bored and crawled over to Thrúd, until he reached the older toddler who offered him a toy sword and laughed when he used it as a teething ring, and Loki could only laugh alongside her and he whispered to Thor:   

“Why am I never unhappy with you?”

Thor broke the distance between them. The light press of lips was enough to wring a gasp from Loki, who instinctively opened his mouth to allow a hint of tongue, and – as the kiss deepened – he brought his hands to broad shoulders and massaged at the muscle. It was difficult to fully embrace with the large stomach between them, although a part of him relished at how the close proximity allowed him to feel every kick or punch from within, and he pulled back for breath and licked at his lips, while Thor teased:

“Why do you veil all compliments as insults?”

“I do not wish for you to get a big head.”

A loud laugh escaped Thor’s lips. It was contagious, enough that Thrúd laughed in turn, and – while Loki managed to keep a straight face – he struggled to maintain his composure when Narfi randomly yelled out ‘poo’ in an oddly enthusiastic voice. A part of him hoped that it wasn’t a signal that he needed to be changed, but the other part was so deep in laughter that he struggled to breathe and soon there were tears in his eyes to match Thor, before a strange silence fell between them and he realised Thor was watching him with intense admiration.

“I live in awe of you,” confessed Thor. “I love you, Loki.”

“I love you, too, you big oaf,” chimed Loki.

“Oaf,” laughed Thrúd. “Oaf, Oaf, Oaf!”

Loki instinctively threw his hands up in mock surrender. It did little to lessen the glare sent in his direction, as a pair of nostrils flared and cheeks flushed red, and Thor – as he deepened the glare that crossed his features – sat ever straighter and raised his head high, even while Thrúd dropped her sword and made her way to her books. The word continued to be chanted by small lips, as if it were fast becoming a mantra, and Thor said in a firm voice:

“Then there are times I should love you a little less.”

“But you don’t,” observed Loki.

Thor rolled his eyes, as he leaned in for another kiss. Loki ignored the loud ‘yuck’ that echoed across the lawn, while he simply allowed his hands to explore Thor’s frame and pulled him ever closed by the hem of his shirt, and a low hum escaped his lips as Thor pulled back with a beautiful smile and cocked his head to the side. Loki blinked away tears, as Thor pulled their foreheads together and closed his eyes, and he sighed in contentment as breaths mingled and the world fell quiet around them. Thor pecked at his lips and whispered back:

“I could never love you less, and I could never love you more.”

“You are truly a hopeless romantic,” teased Loki.

Thor laughed into another long kiss . . .


End file.
